This Is Not a Love Story
by Elliot Green
Summary: …except for the part where it sort of, almost, kind of… is. [Severus gets cursed and falls in love with Hermione Granger. That's not the worst part. Featuring: Bellatrix Lestrange on the warpath, Hermione facing some dark choices, and a Severus Snape who's incapable of saying no.]
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It started, as so many things do, with Bellatrix Lestrange. In her fifth year, she'd been the first girl to wear her tie around her waist instead of her neck. The next day, three other girls had followed suit. The day after that: twelve.

The day after that, Professor McGonagall gave Evie Jones a detention for violating school dress code (actually the detention was for mouthing off about violating school dress code, but the rumour mill didn't care) and that was the end of that.

In her seventh year, Bellatrix Lestrange had been the first person to take up the hobby of 'bopping.' This was when one of the seventh years (and it had to be a seventh year, no one else was allowed) would lean over the bannister of the stair case and whack the backs of the heads of the first years who passed by. It became immensely popular extremely quickly, because it had two main draws: it gave the seventh years some much-needed stress relief, and no one actually got hurt, so the professors didn't do anything about it.

Until Evie Jones managed to fuck things up again, and accidentally pushed a first-year Hufflepuff down the stairs.

The professors came down quite hard on 'bopping' after that.

When Bellatrix Lestrange turned 19, she became the first marked female Death Eater. Many others would follow, of course, but Bellatrix was the first. She'd celebrated by practicing the Crucio curse until she'd mastered it perfectly.

She'd loved it. After that, it became something of a signature move of hers.

Until she'd been arrested, years later, by none other than Evie Jones. Who'd somehow managed to bumble her way through Auror training, and had been part of the force that responded to the attack on the Longbottoms. It had taken nine Aurors to bring Bellatrix down, but only one to arrest her.

It goes without saying that Bellatrix Lestrange hates Evie Jones with a burning passion. But there's someone that Bellatrix hates even more.

And so our story starts with Bellatrix Lestrange. It starts with her being broken out of Azkaban in the summer of 1995. A cautious excursion, that puts stealth above all else. She is the only one broken out, and a carefully constructed golem has been left in her place. All the golem does is look like her and scream, but that's all it has to do. No one notices she's gone.

And so our story starts, with Bellatrix Lestrange spending most of the summer recuperating from her time in prison. She's surprisingly sane for someone who's spent so much time around Dementors. Or perhaps she'd been so insane before being imprisoned that no one could tell the difference. The fact of the matter was, Bellatrix Lestrange hadn't been affected by the Dementors quite so much as everyone else. You didn't turn out like her after a life of happiness, after all. She simply hadn't had very many happy memories for the Dementors to feed on.

And so our story starts… with Bellatrix Lestrange in Malfoy Manor, sitting outside the door to the study Lord Voldemort has claimed for his own. She stares at it, waiting patiently (waiting desperately) for the Dark Lord to appear.

The door opens, and her heart skips a beat. It is not him. Instead of the person she loves, it is the one she despises above all else.

Out steps Severus Snape, who, upon seeing her, raises an eyebrow at her. "Really, Bellatrix?" he asks, shutting the door behind him. "Are you really so pathetic that you would sit out here mooning like a lovestruck puppy?" Scorn drips from his voice, and he seems immensely satisfied. Severus, who carried the Dark Lord's favour despite numerous betrayals. Severus, who spoke to the Dark Lord in a hushed whisper about something that no one else was allowed to hear. Severus, who was the only person who could make the Dark Lord laugh.

Bellatrix scrambles to her feet, wand out and sparks jumping off the tip. "How dare you," she hisses. "How dare you mock me when I have served our Lord more faithfully, more truly, than you ever did."

"Have you?" Snape asks, in mock surprise. "Is that why you're sitting out here while I meet with him?" he says slowly, enunciating the words dripping out of his mouth. "Ever the faithful lapdog, are you? Struck blind and dumb with love."

"I'm going to kill you!" she shrieks, and points her wand at his face.

Snape simply shakes his head. "I don't think the Dark Lord would be very pleased with you if you did," he murmurs, and to Bellatrix's eternal frustration, he doesn't look at all scared or intimidated. Instead, he looks… bored. "After all, I am providing him valuable information about the Order. I offer him a direct link into Dumbledore's camp. I brew him valuable potions. You… what is it you do again?" He pauses in exaggerated thoughtfulness, before smirking at her and walking away from her down the hallway.

Bellatrix can't speak for her rage. She wants to destroy him, she wants to rip his skin from his body and make him eat it. She wants to rip out his intestines and strangle him with them. She wants to curse him senseless, until his brains dribble out his ears.

But she can't. Because he's right, and she knows the Dark Lord would be displeased with her. She can't bring herself to do something that would bring the Dark Lord's displeasure down upon her, no matter how satisfying it would feel.

However… Bellatrix Lestrange was the first female Death Eater for a reason. She is highly intelligent, magically powerful, and above all, viciously creative.

"You know nothing of love," she says softly, as a silvery beam of light leaves her wand and hits Snape soundlessly in the back. A curse that she'd learned all the way back in her childhood. A Black family speciality. "But you will."

* * *

August 5th, 1995 (just barely)

Severus Snape knew he was fucked the moment the curse hit his back. He didn't turn around, of course, because he knew that Bellatrix wouldn't risk harming him, but he also knew that the Dark Lord had a very strict definition of what constituted harm. Namely, anything that would leave Severus unable to spy. That left Bellatrix rather a lot of leeway.

He didn't turn around when he felt the curse, because he knew he needed to get somewhere safe as soon as possible and that meant leaving Malfoy Manor. There was no point in wasting precious time arguing with her. He needed to find Albus so they could figure out what the hell she'd just done.

Already, Severus could feel tendrils of magic creeping over his skin. It felt… disturbingly good, actually, which more than anything made Severus pick up his pace.

He spent his walk out of the wards debating the quickest way to get to Albus. Apparating to Hogwarts meant a long walk across the grounds and through the castle in order to get to Albus' office.

However… Albus' floo was open to the one at Grimmauld Place, in case of emergency. He could Apparate onto the front step, and then it was just a short walk to the kitchen.

A loud crack later, Severus was letting himself into Grimmauld Place as quietly as possible (for it was the middle of the night, and the last thing he wanted was to wake the portrait and announce his presence to everyone). The magic tickling his skin seemed to itch the moment he stepped past the wards, as if they recognised the house. Bellatrix's magic seemed pleased to be home.

Severus was much less pleased to be in such a filthy, decrepit, disgusting excuse for a house. The only halfway decent room was the kitchen, which—

Was occupied. By an exhausted, downtrodden Hermione Granger, who looked up curiously as he entered.

For a moment, they made eye contact, and Severus felt mildly annoyed about getting caught when he'd been hoping not to meet anyone at all— and then his stomach clenched, his skin tingled, and for the first time, he felt like he was truly seeing Hermione Granger.

He stared at her with wide eyes.

"Sir?" she asked, after a long moment where he didn't move, seemingly frozen in place, staring at her. "Are you alright?"

He blinked, as if suddenly waking up. "Fuck," he breathed out, still staring at her.

"Professor?" Hermione asked in alarm.

"I'm—" He rubbed a hand over his face, unable to take his eyes off her. "What are you doing up?" he asked, before he could help it, and immediately winced.

"I couldn't sleep," Hermione admitted. She seemed worried. "I had— well, it doesn't matter," she finished sheepishly.

"Bad dreams?" Severus asked quietly. His gaze flickered over to the fireplace, but he couldn't— he couldn't bring himself to leave.

"Yes, actually," Hermione said. "How did you know?"

"In these dark times, we all have bad dreams," Severus said.

Hermione looked up at him in wordless surprise, and Severus felt a smile threaten to overtake his lips.

"Shit," he said instead, and dove for the fireplace.

Hermione gaped at him as it whisked him away in a rush of floo powder. He didn't once meet her eyes.

* * *

August 5th, 1995 (late morning)

"And then he just disappeared!" Hermione finished her tale, exulting in the quiet gasps from her captive audience.

"Just like that?" Harry said in amazement.

"Just like that," Hermione confirmed. They were sitting on Harry's bed, her, Harry, and Ron, and she was telling them about Professor Snape's strange visit to the kitchen last night. "You should have seen his face… He was wearing such a peculiar expression! I've never seem him look like that before!"

"He's finally gone round the bend," Ron said, sounding much too pleased by the idea.

"Or maybe he was injured!" Harry said in excitement.

"Harry!" Hermione scolded. "You shouldn't be happy that a teacher, not to mention an Order member, might be inured!"

"But think about why he was injured," Harry insisted. "He must've been doing something for the Order, if he came here!"

"Or maybe You-Know-Why cursed him," Ron pointed out. "He's a bit nutters with his followers, isn't he?"

Harry frowned in consideration. "Maybe," he grudgingly admitted. He very much wanted this to be a sign that the Order was doing something to fight back against Voldemort. Even if Harry himself couldn't be apart of it, just the knowledge that they were doing something instead of sitting around on their arses would be a huge relief.

"It doesn't matter," Hermione said, since she was pretty sure they were wrong regardless. "The important thing is that I think he's finally warming up to me."

It'd only taken a month and a half of working together.

At the end of fourth year, Hermione's parents had picked her up from the train station as usual. Unfortunately, they'd run into Lucius Malfoy while leaving, who'd given them some very dirty looks. Hermione hadn't wanted to tell her parents too much of what was going on, since she knew they would worry, but she wasn't an idiot. If they were in danger, they needed to know.

After weeks of discussion, which at one point had included Albus Dumbledore himself visiting her house and talking to her parents, her parents had finally started taking the threat seriously. They'd agreed to go into hiding in one of the Order's muggle safe houses. (Her parents hadn't been able to come to Grimmauld Place because of the muggle-repelling wards.)

In order to keep them hidden, however, Hermione hadn't been able to go with them. The Order didn't have the resources to get proper wards, which meant that it had been safer to get no wards at all, to hide them in muggle obscurity. Having a witch living with them would have lit up the house like a beacon.

Hermione was conflicted about this. While she did truly miss her parents, part of her was also… well, relieved to be spending the summer in the Wizarding World. The older she got, the harder it was for her to go back to being a muggle every summer. Part of her still felt like if she left, if she didn't keep an eye on magic all the time, it would disappear like she'd never even had it.

Like she'd dreamed the whole thing.

So she'd been very pleased to be spending the summer in Grimmauld Place, where even if she still couldn't cast magic herself, she was still living in a magical house, with other wizards and witches.

This actually turned out to be less fun than she'd hoped.

The adults were incredibly busy, and largely left her to her own devices. The first week, she'd made a thorough investigation of the Black Library. Much to her pleasure, in the process she'd also found copies of the fifth year texts.

She spent the second week doing all her summer work.

By the third week… She was ready to go crazy. It turned out spending three straight weeks in a dimly lit house without once ever going outside was not conducive to one's mental health. Hardly ever seeing anyone else didn't help, either. The only other person who was actually staying at the house was Sirius Black, and he almost never came out of his room. Hermione didn't know what he did in there, and she didn't want to know.

Thankfully, at the end of that week there'd been an Order meeting. Hermione had come downstairs to the kitchen afterwards to get some water, and she'd found Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape arguing in the kitchen.

Professor McGonagall had asked her how her summer was going, and when Hermione mentioned that she was going insane with boredom, Professor McGonagall had turned to Professor Snape with a glint in her eye, and immediately suggested (in such a manner as to imply that it was not at all a suggestion) that Professor Snape let Hermione assist with the huge brewing load he'd just been complaining about.

Professor Snape, despite looking like he wanted to set fire to the house, had agreed (after a brief glaring context with Professor McGonagall that he'd apparently lost), and thus had started one of the most interesting summers of Hermione's life.

Professor Snape was… well, he was a bloody brilliant potions master, excuse her language. He was impatient and tetchy, but for the most part seemed content to ignore her outside of giving her tasks and instructions. They'd quickly fallen into a, if not companionable, at least moderately comfortable silence.

This was aided by Hermione's inability to not be polite and follow instructions. Although she didn't know it, she'd been one of the best student assistants that Snape had ever had, solely because of her ability to just shut up and brew, something which most teenagers… lacked.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, startling her out of her narratively convenient stupor.

"What? Oh, right, sorry. So breakfast then?" Hermione said, smiling as Harry and Ron's face predictably lit up.

* * *

The kitchen was mostly empty, except for Sirius. He was sitting at the table, mug of tea clenched firmly in hand, staring wide-eyed down at the rough wood. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his pale face had taken on a sickly tinge to it.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, taking the seat across from him without thinking about it. Harry raised his eyebrows at her, and Hermione instantly felt guilty. How unfair was it that Harry had to spend the summer with his awful relatives while Hermione spent it with the one parental figure Harry had? She wished she could take back her whole summer and give it to him instead.

"I'm fine," Sirius said gruffly, not looking at her.

"You don't look fine," Harry protested, sitting down next to the man.

Ron seemed to think they had the situation well in hand, because he went to investigate the contents of the pans sitting out on the stove. He seemed to be pleased with what he found, for he immediately started loading up a plate.

Sirius glanced up at Harry with a small smile. "I always look fine," he said, his joking tone falling flat. "It's been great having people in the house again," he said, and this time he sounded more genuine. "No offence, Hermione."

"But?" Hermione prompted, and Sirius sighed. Harry looked over at her again, seemingly more confused than anything by her familiarity.

"The summer's gone by so quickly. You've only just arrived, Harry, and it's already August. Soon you'll be back to school." Sirius looked up at Harry and gave him an awkward smile before lowering his eyes again.

"Remus will be back soon, won't he?" Harry asked worriedly.

Sirius shrugged, not saying anything.

Hermione stared at Sirius, her mind racing. Although they'd spent most of the summer doing their own thing, you didn't live with someone for two months without picking up a little bit about them. And she recognised now something in Sirius that she couldn't believe she hadn't noticed before. Sirius wasn't just lonely and restless. He was bored, genuinely and utterly without any sort of intellectual engagement.

She would've thought that nothing could be more boring than Azkaban, but she had no idea what prison had been like for Sirius. What she could understand, however, was that Sirius needed a project.

And hadn't she just been talking to other day to two mischievous idiotic inventors looking for guidance on expanding into products that could help the war effort?

"Hey Sirius," Hermione said, and after a moment he finally looked up at her. "Do you think you would have time to help out with a project?"

"What kind of project?" Sirius asked warily, but she could see a glint of interest in his eyes.

Harry and Ron's questioning looks turned to smiles as Hermione explained what the twins were doing.

For the first time all summer, Hermione saw a genuine smile on Sirius' face.

"I think I have a few ideas we could try," he said.

* * *

August 9th, 1995

Severus was going crazy. He knew it, the house elves knew it, the little man who lived in his ceiling and kept talking to him knew it. Truthfully, he'd been expecting this to happen eventually. Really, he was just surprised it'd taken so long.

"—erus? Severus!" the little man called.

He sounded strangely like Albus.

Severus groaned, and tried to push himself up off the floor. Instead, he only managed to roll himself over so that he was face down. That meant he didn't have to look at anything, an incredible improvement.

"What in the blazes is wrong with him?" a voice, sounding suspiciously like Minerva's, asked.

"Severus, can you speak?" the little man asked.

A groan was the only response.

"Merlin, what did you drink?" the other voice asked in awe.

"Minerva, go fetch Poppy, would you? She'll know what to do."

"Of course, Albus, right away." Footsteps leading away, followed by the sound of a door opening and closing.

Albus Dumbledore crouched down next to the prone figure of Severus Snape, his knees popping. "Alright, Severus. What did you drink?"

"A tincture of wormwood," Severus finally admitted, not looking up. "Maybe two."

"Absinthe? Really? That's a rather… interesting choice."

"I think I'm going to die," Severus said, and Albus could hear the truth in his words.

"Let me get you a potion. You'll feel better in a moment, I promise you."

"I'll never feel anything ever again," he moaned.

Albus tried to suppress his smile, then realised that Severus couldn't see it anyway. He grinned. "And how are you liking the ground?"

"The ground is my new master," came Severus' muffled voice. "I shall never escape her cold, dead grasp."

"Ah, the ground is a woman then?" Albus asked, chortling. He searched through Severus' desk for a hangover potion. It wouldn't cure his hangover, but the combination hydration draught and headache potion would hopefully stop him from wanting to kill himself.

"The ground is a cruel mistress," Severus affirmed.

"Ahah! Never fear, my boy, you'll soon be back on your feet."

"I'd honestly rather die."

Albus crouched down next to Severus' body, vial in hand. "Roll over so I can give this to you," he instructed, and watched in amusement as Severus wobbled around weakly. "Come on, give it a try."

This time, Severus managed to push himself back onto his back, and he stared up at the ceiling with lifeless dead eyes. "Kill me," he croaked, the depths of despair written on his face. "I beg of you, kill me, and end my suffering."

"I take it the absinthe didn't agree with you then," Albus said, and poured the vial down Severus' throat before he could respond.

Severus swallowed instinctually, undoubtedly recognising the taste of something that would make him feel better. He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly as the potion began to take effect.

"Better?" Albus asked, unable to keep his grin off his face as Severus opened his eyes once more.

"Marginally," Severus said stiffly, but he managed to push himself to a sitting position with nothing more than a wince.

"Care to tell me why you—"

"Severus!" Poppy cried, bursting through the door. "Minerva said you were dying!"

"I was hardly dying," Severus protested. Then he paused. "I merely wished for death." Standing in the doorway while Poppy rushed over, Minerva rolled her eyes.

"What happened to you?" Poppy said, crouching down next to him and casting diagnostic spells.

"Ah, sadly, Severus fell to the lure of the most vile of magics: that of the green fairy," Albus said, enjoying himself far more than was reasonable. Severus seemed to agree, judging by the death glare he sent him.

"The gree— Absinthe?! Really, Severus? After what happened last time?" Poppy clucked disapprovingly, lowering her wand again. "Well you seem to be functioning well enough now, but you'll want another potion in an hour. Do you have more?"

"I have enough to last me a lifetime of poor decisions," Severus muttered, not meeting Minerva's eye, who was shaking with silent laughter.

"Honestly, Severus, what happened to you? This is most unlike you!" Poppy's voice held genuine worry. She'd always been kind to him, even when he'd been a student here himself. Albus thought Severus must genuinely like her quite a bit, in order to let her get away with mothering him as much as she did.

"Lots of things are unlike me," Severus muttered, proving that he did, in fact, still need mothering. "And yet, here we are."

"I think perhaps Severus isn't quite ready to talk about it," Albus said diplomatically.

"Albus, do you know?" Minerva asked, her curiosity making her indelicate. Not that Gryffindors were delicate at the best of times, alas. A failing Albus found himself intimately familiar with.

"I have my suspicions, and I have no doubt that in time Severus will tell you as well. However, currently he is… not in the best state to talk about it," Albus said, casting a pointed eye to where Severus sat miserably on the floor.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Poppy said pointedly, getting to her feet. "Drink lots of water, Severus. I'm going to be keeping a close eye on you, do you hear me?"

"Yes, Poppy," Severus responded, sounding very put-upon.

Poppy rolled her eyes, but followed Minerva out the door, closing it gently behind her.

They sat in silence for a moment; Albus waiting patiently. He'd played this game before. He was something of an expert at it, in fact.

Eventually, he won.

"It's the girl," Severus said suddenly, breaking the silence. He drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He looked… young. "Or no, it's not her. It's me. I'm the problem."

"I do not believe you are a problem," Albus said, knowing his words would be ignored but needing to say it anyway.

"These feelings, Albus— they're a poison, dripping through my mind and corrupting every bit of who I once was. Who am I, in the face of such passion? Who am I, but a carrier for a love I've never earned?" And wasn't it so like the young to be overly preoccupied by their own melodrama. Even Severus wasn't immune to the lure of dramatic over-exaggeration.

"You are Severus Snape. You have been cursed, yes, but you still remain yourself. Does it truly matter whom you love?"

"It's not who, it's how. Every time I close my eyes, I see her face. I dream of her voice, of her soft smiles and fierce intelligence, her— She's fifteen," he reminded himself, voice hollow. "And I'm a monster."

Albus crouched down next to him again, ignoring the creaking of his joints. "Dear boy, you're hardly a monster," he said sadly. "Do you know the difference between a monster and a man?"

"What?" Severus asked, voice muffled.

"Both have capacity for great evil. Both can hurt those around them. But a monster does not care. A monster does not feel the pain of others, does not feel the consequences of his actions. A monster hurts people, and feels no remorse. You, my boy, are no monster."

Severus looked up from his knees. "I recognise that speech," he said, eyes narrowing.

Albus sighed. "Yes. I gave it to you many years ago. It's one of my favourites, actually," he admitted. He stood up, and reached out a hand. "Hopefully it works better now than it did last time."

Severus reluctantly let Albus pull him to his feet. "It didn't work at all last time," he said crossly.

"Severus, this is exactly what Bellatrix intended when she cursed you. Do you think you are the first professor to fantasise about his students? You do remember Slughorn, do you not?"

Severus winced. "Unfortunately."

"At least you have the benefit of being unwilling. And, of course, I trust you will not act on these… desires."

"Of course not!"

"Well then. Frankly, I don't see the problem. You've been a spy for years. What's one more lie?"

"It's hardly that simple!" Severus complained, throwing his hands up in the air. "This job you've asked me to do requires such a delicate balance, merely the wrong look at the wrong time would send the whole scheme spinning into disarray!"

"Do you not feel you are up to the task?" Albus asked, because he was a conniving old man and he'd known Severus far long enough to have learned what buttons to press.

Severus stared at him, stunned. "Albus," he said carefully, not meeting the elder's eyes. "What would you do, for love?"

Albus' confidence of a moment ago fled. He'd been relying on Severus for so much, for so long, that he'd forgotten that the man was simply… human. Like the rest of them. "Research the curse. As well you can, in the time you have. I will talk to William Weasley about possible techniques for removing it. In the meantime… Would it be possible to simply tell Tom what happened? Bellatrix Lestrange is ultimately at fault for this, not you. Perhaps this incident might even work in your favour, and further lessen her position within the Inner Circle."

"I'm not sure," Severus admitted. "He's always played us against each other, as long as it doesn't interfere in his plans." Severus assumed Bellatrix's end goal was to humiliate him. That was often her intention. But who had she intended him to fall in love with? Albus, perhaps?

"It's something to think about," Albus said with a sigh, and Severus wondered for a mad moment if he'd read his mind. "Regardless, if you wish to keep this a secret, we will have to come up with some explanation as to why you no longer hate Miss Granger."

Severus flinched at the name. "She's been working as my assistant over the summer. Is it no surprise that we could become more cordial?" He carefully controlled his face so as to not reveal his true intentions.

"We could hardly spread the rumour that you two spent the summer together. But it is not unheard of for professors to take assistants during the semester."

Severus did not reveal his eagerness at the idea. "As a favour to Minerva, of course."

"Of course." Albus gave him a long, evaluating look. "Neither of you are popular among the student body," he said frankly. "There will always be rumours."

"As long as there aren't enough rumours for Bellatrix to learn anything concrete. I imagine idle school gossip will be preferable to the truth."

"Many things are," Albus agreed.

* * *

August 11th, 1995

It took Severus a few days to work up the courage to go to Grimmauld Place. And yet, somehow, he felt it took all his willpower to stop himself from running there at the first hint of an actual excuse.

He needed to see the library. The curse Bellatrix used was utterly unfamiliar to him— he'd never even heard of such a thing. Since the Headmaster hadn't either, that suggested that Bellatrix was using extremely dark magic, which she'd had to have learned somewhere. Since it seemed unlikely that the Dark Lord had taught her that particular spell (given his frequently proclaimed disdain for anything relating to the weak human emotion that was love), that meant that Grimmauld Place was the only other logical place to start.

Severus wasn't expecting much, frankly (as if his luck were ever that good), but perhaps he'd be able to find a hint of the right direction to look in. For the time being, he didn't know anything about the curse.

It was difficult to detect curses at the best of times, and when they were cast on a magical person, it became almost impossible unless you already knew what you were looking for. The person's own magic would almost always obscure the magic of the curse, essentially hiding it from view. So far, Albus had only managed to see that the strength was staying constant in time, which meant it wasn't going to fade on its own, something Severus had already suspected.

He decided his best bet was to go at night, when no one would be awake. He could slip in, do his research, and slip out without anyone being the wiser. (Not that he didn't have express permission from Albus to be there, but the last thing he wanted was to have to explain himself. Especially not to Black, of all people.)

Of course, he'd forgotten that his luck was deplorable.

The kitchen light was on as he passed by on the way to the library. He hesitated for a moment, wondering desperately if it was her… She'd been up late last time he'd been here, as well.

He desperately wanted to see her again, but what could he possibly say? It took every ounce of his willpower to keep moving (although his efforts were aided by the intense self-loathing he felt), but he managed to force himself past the door and into the calm silence of the library.

Severus had always felt at home in libraries. As a child, he'd often spent time in the small local library to avoid being at home. The librarians had always been kind to him, undoubtedly feeling pity for the pathetic creature he'd once been. (And perhaps still was.)

At Hogwarts, the library had been something of a refuge as well. The one place in the school where he could relax, under the merciless watch of the librarian of the time. It had made him feel less lonely, to be surrounded by people, even if most of them didn't like him very much. Lily had loved the library as well, and was always content (when they were younger, at least), to spend the weekends studying together in industrious silence. And of course, Black and his gang of fools had been less likely to torment him in the library, wary of being banned.

Severus inspected the shelves hopelessly. While the library was decently well-stocked, for a private library, it hardly compared to the size of the Hogwarts library. Certainly he wouldn't be able to conduct his entire search tonight, but even if he had to search the entire room he'd be able to finish before the start of the semester.

Many of the books were old enough that they didn't have indexes or even a table of contents, but Severus knew a spell that would let him search a written text for words of his choosing, even when the text was grossly misspelled.

He'd just found what looked like a promising book on unconventional curses, when the door to the library swung open.

Miss Granger blinked in surprise upon seeing him. "Sorry, professor," she said, pulling her robe tighter around her. "I didn't realise you were the one in here."

"Who did you think it was?" Severus asked curiously. A week ago he would've merely stared at her until she left. Now he was engaging her in conversation. Merlin be damned, this semester was going to be utterly deplorable.

"I thought maybe Harry or Sirius," she admitted freely.

Severus realised, with a sudden start, that Miss Granger was living with Sirius Black and Harry Potter, two of the people he despised more than anything. A brief, mad thought of rescuing her dashed through his mind before he came to his senses. If anything, that would simply inspire them to rescue her from him.

"Do they often inhabit the library late at night?" Severus asked, only one step away from being officially snarky. "Or indeed, at all?" There it was, the last step.

Miss Granger shrugged. "Sirius does, actually. He keeps odd hours, too."

That… was actually useful information. Severus assumed he'd be unmolested by the owner of the house, but if Black made a habit of visiting the library after hours they'd eventually run into each other. He'd better have the letter from Albus prepared. Perhaps he'd come back in the day next time, as well, so that Black would know to expect him. Or would that only leave him vulnerable to any traps? Of course, after the first time he met Black in the library, he'd be vulnerable regardless, and that first meeting had the possibility of going very sour…

"I'll just go to bed then," Miss Granger said, giving up on waiting for him to respond.

"Wait," Severus said automatically, then cursed himself when she actually turned back towards him. What was he supposed to say? "Have you finished brewing the Invigoration Draught?" Of course she had. It'd been weeks.

"Yes, professor," she said, and if she was insulted, she hid it well under a mask of resigned tolerance.

"My brewing time will be limited for the remainder of the summer. Brew the Enchantment Enhancer by yourself, if you feel up to the task." Merlin, was he acting different? He found he couldn't quite tell. Was it kindness, giving her a choice, or cruelty, implying that she might not be up to the task? Desperately, Severus tried to keep his thoughts from swirling out of control. He hadn't been this anxious since he'd been a teenager.

Of course, he hadn't been in love since he'd been a teenager, either. This was most inconvenient.

"Alright, professor," Miss Granger said. She seemed pleased enough with the instruction. Severus barely avoided breathing a sigh of relief.

"One last thing… The Deputy Headmistress has requested that I continue to utilise your assistance into the school year," Severus said, not bothering to mask his distaste at the plan. He did mask his reluctant excitement, however. "Provided you are amenable?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Of course, professor!" Miss Granger said in amazement. "I have no problem with that."

Severus sighed, pleased by her reaction despite himself. "Very well then. You may go."

She nodded at him as she left the library, a small smile on her face. She closed the door softly behind her.

Severus stared at the book in his hand, suddenly a lot less interested in curses than he had been a moment ago.

* * *

September 1st, 1995

The last few weeks of summer passed with hardly any relevance to the plot at all. The trio, aided by Sirius Black, had their fair share of adventures cleaning Grimmauld Place, but undoubtedly the story of the Infestation of the Magical Killer Wasps would be of no interest to you, dear reader. Nor would the Mystery of the Windy Hallway nor the Infestation of the Magical Killer Wasps II: Revenge of the Wasp Queen.

Suffice to say, the rest of the summer passed with absolutely nothing of interest occurring at all.

Except, of course, for Sirius' burgeoning correspondence with the Weasley twins, and thus his renewed lease on life as he delved into his new project with a mad purpose. The enchanted mirror he'd originally intended to give to Harry had been given to the twins instead, to aid their long discussions on spell-crafting theory. Sirius spent more time studying than he had even before his NEWTs.

"You know, Hermione," Harry said, as they sat in an otherwise empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express, waiting for the train to depart. "I think this is the first summer I've had since starting Hogwarts where nothing crazy's happened to me. Even you had a more eventful summer than I did, what with your parents and working for Snape and everything!"

"Only you would say needing to be rescued from your relative's house and spending the rest of the summer in a haunted secret headquarters with your escaped convict godfather isn't crazy," Hermione huffed, but there was a slight smile on her lips nonetheless.

"And don't forget about Kreacher!" Ron added, with a shudder. "That elf gives me the creeps. He's definitely crazy enough to count."

"Yeah, okay," Harry said, grinning in reluctant amusement. "I guess you guys are right."

What Harry didn't know, however, was that he was no longer the protagonist. No, he'd been downgraded to nothing more than a side character— something he wouldn't realise until far, far too late.

Of course, we don't really care when Harry realised that his protagonist status had ben revoked.

No, the important question is… when did Hermione realise?


	2. Chapter 2

September 4th, 1995

Between the Ministry flunky posing as their new Defence professor, and having potions first thing Monday morning, the new semester was off to an auspicious start.

"Come on, we're going to be late," Hermione said, rolling her eyes at Harry and Ron dragging their feet.

"'Course," Harry muttered, and started off quickly for the dungeon. "Last thing I want is Snape giving me detention in the first class of the semester."

"He would, wouldn't he," Ron replied darkly. "That greasy—"

"Ron!" Hermione said sharply. "Don't you think that's a little unfair?"

Ron looked at her, baffled. "Come off it, Hermione, you know he would."

"Maybe if he had a good reason," Hermione said. "But he's not going to just assign a detention randomly!"

"He has before," Harry said skeptically, as they approached the door to the potions classroom.

"Well— maybe," Hermione reluctantly admitted. The urge to defend her professor hadn't gone away, but even she could see it was a lost cause.

Their spirits effectively quashed, the three of them crept into the classroom, taking their usual seats. They were some of the last ones to arrive, but they weren't late, since the professor was still absent.

A moment later the professor in question strode through the door, which slammed magically behind him.

"Wands away, books out, and turn to page twenty-four," he said, as he walked past the rows of desks. Upon reaching the front, he whirled around and surveyed the class, who were sitting there stunned motionless. He raised an eyebrow at them, and immediately there was a flurry of movement as everyone raced to get their books out.

Hermione's was already on her desk. Honestly, she thought scornfully, we've only been in this class four years. Not like they hadn't had time to learn the drill. Opening the book, she found that page twenty-four outlined the effects of moonfly when used in conjunction with various depressants, something she'd brushed up on just the night before. Instead of reading the page for the ninth time, her gaze instead drifted up to Professor Snape.

He was watching her. As soon as she made eye contact, he looked away, but… He'd definitely been watching her.

Hermione wondered what their classroom interactions would be like, now that they'd spent a good part of the summer working together. Surely he would be a little kinder to her?

Instead, he ignored her almost completely. Even though she raised her hand for every question, he never called on her. Even when no one else moved, he would pick someone at random, and then give the answer himself if that person failed to get it.

Hermione wasn't especially put out. Truthfully, most of the professors had stopped calling on her, except when it was clear no one else at all knew the answer. She'd been upset at first when she realised she wasn't being called on as much, until Ron laughed at her and asked her what the point was, since everyone knew she knew the answer.

Hogwarts was amazing, that was a fact, and Hermione wouldn't give up learning magic for anything. But she also knew, with a sort of clinical detachment, that she wasn't being intellectually challenged. That was why she worked on so many side projects, supplementary research to fill in the gaps of her education.

But now, that would change. She was going to be assisting Professor Snape with… well, Hermione wasn't entirely clear on that. More stuff for the Order, probably. That didn't matter. The important thing was that she would finally get a chance to stretch her intellectual wings.

"Miss Granger…" Professor Snape called, as the students started collecting their things. Class was over. "Stay behind for a moment," he sneered.

Parvati gave her a sympathetic look as she and Lavender walked out the door.

Harry and Ron stared uncertainly at her.

"It's okay," she sighed. "I'll meet you at Charms." They didn't wait before running off.

She made her way nervously to the front of the classroom, and winced as the last student to exit (Pansy Parkinson) slammed the door as she left, although not before tossing a smirk at Hermione over her shoulder.

"Yes, professor?" Hermione asked politely, clasping her hands together in front of her as she stood nervously before the professor's desk.

Professor Snape sat behind it, posture stiff. Upon seeing the door close, he sighed, and slouched down slightly in his chair. He drummed his fingers idly on the desk. "What evenings are you available to assist me?" He finally asked, looking up at her reluctantly.

"Well, any of them, I suppose," Hermione replied. "Except for when we have prefect meetings."

Professor Snape nodded. "And how many evenings will you be able to devote?"

Hermione blinked. She hadn't thought about it, really. It was her O.W.L. year, so obviously she'd be extra busy with studies, but… this was important. And really, when had she ever turned down extra work? "How many evenings do you want me?" she asked.

He winced. He opened his mouth to say something and hesitated, before finally continuing. "Let us plan for one or two evenings a week, for an hour or two depending on our respective schedules, and then a longer session on the weekends, time permitting. Is that amenable to you?"

Hermione nodded eagerly. "Yes, of course! Will we be doing the same sort of thing as—" she cut herself off, wary of anyone listening in even when they were supposedly in an empty classroom. Living in an evil magical house all summer tended to make one paranoid.

Professor Snape understood what she meant. "Yes," he responded curtly.

"Okay! Er— When are we meeting next then? And are we just meeting in here?"

"In my office." He stared at her for a moment, expression inscrutable. "Tonight," he stated, but there was a hint of a question to his voice that Hermione wasn't sure she hadn't imagined.

"After dinner?" She asked, trying to read anything in his blank face, and failing utterly.

"Very well." He didn't even dismiss her, just looked down at the papers on his desk and started grading.

"Er— thanks, professor," Hermione said, and let herself out. She was practically skipping as she walked away. Fifth year was off to an excellent start.

* * *

September 8th, 1995

A week into the semester, Draco Malfoy barged into Severus' office.

Really, Severus was surprised it hadn't happened sooner.

"Granger?" Draco cried, slamming the door behind him and throwing himself into the chair in front of Severus' desk.

Severus stared at him, eyebrow slightly raised. After a long moment, Draco straightened himself sheepishly, fixing his posture into something more polite.

"Sorry," he muttered, not meeting Severus in the eye.

"Very well," Severus said. He already knew exactly what this was about, but it wouldn't do to let Draco know that. The son of two of his closest friends (which really said more about who he considered "friends" than it did about how close he was with the Malfoys), and one of the Death Eaters' spies in the castle, to boot. Not that he was a very effective spy, really, but he occasionally heard things. Like, presumably, that Severus had taken on Hermione Granger as an assistant. "Now that you've composed yourself into something approaching respectable, would you care to elaborate about whatever it is that has you so upset? Or is it merely the fact that she exists?"

"You—" Any trace of composure Draco had managed to find was washed away. "You've taken her on as your assistant!" he said.

Severus paused for a moment, staring blankly at the boy. "That is correct," he said slowly, as if trying to comprehend how that had any bearing on the current situation.

Draco, of course, knew exactly what his professor was doing, and it only irritated him more. "Why?" he whined. "If you needed an assistant, why not anyone else?"

Severus pursed his lips. "Would you have preferred I select Potter, instead?" he asked, with barely concealed distaste.

Draco gaped at him. "No, of course not, but— but why?"

"I had no choice," Severus responded stiffly. This had the benefit of actually being true, but he was hardly about to tell Draco the real reason. The lies he and Albus had cooked up would suffice.

"What?" Draco said, stunned by this response. "What do you mean?"

"Professor McGonagall insisted. I believe she no longer… trusts me, after the events of last June."

"That's not fair!" Draco exploded. "She can't just make you—"

"As it happens, she can," Severus interrupted calmly. "She has the full support of the Headmaster. He seems to think it'll be good for me." That last part was, unfortunately, also true.

"That's ridiculous," Draco huffed, slumping down in his chair again. "That's so unfair."

Severus nodded. "Many things are."

"But… but if you could choose anyone… it wouldn't be Granger, right? Who would it be?" Draco pressed.

Severus got the impression that Draco was feeling insecure about his potions skills. As he should be, since they were categorically mediocre. "I would choose no one," he said, solely for the look on Draco's face. He'd allowed seventh years to undertake independent research projects before, under his strict supervision, but he'd never taken on a student assistant. He'd thought about it, but between teaching and his head of house duties, he had more than enough student interaction. His brewing time was his time. And until this summer, his workload had never been so heavy that he'd been forced to have an assistant.

Draco huffed. "But say you had to choose someone. Like, you were forced to choose someone. Who would it be?"

Severus pretended to consider this. "Likely Flora Carrow," he said. She was a sixth-year Slytherin prefect, currently. And unlike her twin sister, she was extremely dependable.

"Fine, whatever," Draco said, with a roll of his eyes. He seemed finally willing to give up on the game. "I guess I should've figured it would be something like that. As if you'd ever willingly pick Granger as your assistant."

Severus struggled to stamp down the urge to defend her, and felt annoyed at himself for even feeling the urge. Draco was obviously jealous. Granger had the best potions grades in her year, and her brewing was meticulous. She lacked the creative spark of a true potions prodigy, but what she lacked in instinct she made up for in hard work and careful preparation. She would make an excellent assistant, and in fact already had been, over the last few months.

Not that Severus could say any of that. "Was that all?" he said instead, trying to appear aloof and uncaring, and not deeply annoyed at Draco's presence.

Draco sighed. "Should I be worried about Umbridge?" he asked, after a moment. "Father said she was awful, and only useful when it benefits her personally."

Severus frowned, unsure of how much to say. Dolores Umbridge was notorious among Ministry workers for her cloying ambition and obviously fake attitude. Thankfully he hadn't had the pleasure of interacting with her much. She never sat anywhere near him.

"You had her class already, is that correct?" Severus asked, fishing for more information. Was she sympathetic to Slytherin, her old house? Or to Gryffindor, the 'heroes of the light,' as it were? Certainly she wasn't sympathetic to Potter, but Severus had no idea where the rest of her loyalties lay.

"Yeah, it's the worst. Just reading from a textbook and zero actual Defence practice. As if we didn't have OWLs this spring that we need to pass!"

Lovely. "I'll talk to the prefects about arranging tutoring," Severus said with a grimace.

"So is she evil or what?" Draco asked pointedly.

"Excuse me?" Severus said, taken aback.

"Let's see, Lupin was a werewolf, Quirrell tried to steal something and got killed for it," Draco was counting the professors off on his fingers as he spoke. "Moody was completely crazy, and there's no way you can tell me that him transfiguring me was anything but torture. And he cast an Unforgivable on us! Potter was the only one who came close to throwing it off, and he's a freak or something. Oh yeah, and then there was Lockhart. You know half the Slytherins are still convinced Lockhart is the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets?"

Stunned, Severus tried to consider what the rash of Defence professors looked like from the students' perspective. True, the administration hadn't been exactly forthcoming with information on the exact nature of the incidents in question, but he hadn't expected such wild rumours— Actually, now that he was thinking about it, he couldn't believe the rumours weren't wilder.

"So looking at the track record we've had for DADA professors, she's got to be evil, right?" Draco seemed immensely satisfied with his analysis.

Severus wondered whether he should tell him that actually, two of those professors had been agents of the Dark Lord and one of them had merely been grossly incompetent. Lupin was evil, he mentally allowed. "Lockhart was admitted to St Mungo's for severe spell damage," he pointed out instead, horrified yet fascinated.

"Well, yeah. Is it any coincidence that a girl went missing, Potter rescued her, Lockhart got brain damaged, and the attacks stopped, all in one night?" Draco scoffed. "I don't think so."

"And you don't think Lockhart was a victim?"

"If the Heir of Slytherin were real, why would they go after Lockhart of all people?" Draco pointed out. "Besides, no one can actually be that incompetent."

Severus sighed. "Perhaps you're right," he said, simply because he'd hated Lockhart maybe more than anyone, and if a generation of students grew up thinking Lockhart was secretly evil… he could live with that.

What was more concerning was how little Draco knew of the Dark Lord's involvement with Hogwarts. Did Lucius tell him nothing? Was it for his own protection? Or did Lucius not think the boy was mature enough?

Regardless of the reason, it no longer mattered. The days of Draco's youthful ignorance were numbered.

* * *

September 19th, 1995

Severus was coming to rely on Granger's assistance. When he brewed alone now, he missed her presence. She was quick to anticipate what he would need next, keeping an eye not just on the next step, but three steps ahead so that she was making efficient use of her time.

They always brewed in silence, something that Severus vastly preferred. He thought he'd become tired of her presence, curse or no, but the opposite had happened. Brewing by himself felt achingly lonely now, rather than the refuge from the world it'd once been.

Brewing with her had become the highlights of his week, a moment of contentment amongst the mess that was his life.

Which is why now, with her running late, he was becoming very concerned.

He was just getting up to go look for her when he heard faint voices from the hallway outside his office. Silently, he flicked his wand, and the voices became clearly audible through the door.

"-don't understand why you can't get the evening off!" whined the young Weasley that Miss Granger was unfortunately friends with.

"Ron, we've already talked about this!" Granger huffed. Severus was thrilled to hear the annoyance in her voice.

"But it's your birthday!" the boy said, and Severus could hear the pout in his voice. Disgusting. "You should be doing something fun!"

"Brewing is fun!" Granger said crossly. Severus tried desperately to suppress the pleasure he felt at that comment. "I actually like helping out, Ron, and why shouldn't I spend my birthday doing something I enjoy instead of listening to you complain about it!" With that, Severus saw the door start to open, and he hastily sat back down and composed himself. The biggest difficulty was in keeping the smile off his face. He hadn't expected he'd be so thrilled at hearing Granger defend him, but perhaps he shouldn't be surprised.

He cancelled the spell with a surreptitious flick of his wand as she entered the room and angrily closed the door behind her.

"Is everything all right?" he asked mildly. Granger shot him a surprised look. Surprised that he would bother to ask, he supposed.

"Oh, yes, sorry I'm late. I got held up," she added with a grimace. She crossed over to the small cauldron he had set up and peered into it. "I don't recognise this base," she said in bewilderment. "What are we brewing today?"

"A potion of my own design," Severus admitted, walking over to join her next to the cauldron. He was just close enough so that their sleeves brushed, a fact that Severus was suddenly acutely aware of. "Can you determine the key constituents of the base?"

Granger's eyes gleamed with the challenge. She picked up her wand and started casting, while Severus barely managed to keep the fondness he felt off his face. For a brief moment he wondered— would the curse have worked as strongly if he'd seen someone else first? What of his feelings were real, and what were artificial? The same part of him that longed to be near Granger was convinced that his feelings were real, only uncovered by the curse. But he couldn't be sure, because he couldn't remember what he'd felt like before. He had no basis for comparison.

At the end of the lesson, Granger was cleaning up the brewing station with quick, efficient wand movements.

Severus looked at the potions in his desk, hesitating. After a moment, before he could stop himself, he snatched one out of the drawer.

Granger noticed immediately when he walked over to her, looking up at him curiously.

"Is something wrong, sir?" she said, wand slowing to a stop.

"I believe presents are customary on one's birthday," he managed to get out, before shoving the vial into her hand. He couldn't believe the sudden awkwardness he felt as the result of a single sentence. He wanted to die.

"Sir?" she said in surprise, looking down at the label. Her eyes widened.

"Happy birthday," he said, straining to keep his voice quiet. He felt idiotic, completely foolish. "I trust you will make good use of it."

"I will, sir, thank you!" she said, beaming up at him. Just like that, his anxiety melted away, and he let himself smile back down at her.

In the back of his mind, however, he knew. He was well and truly fucked.

* * *

September 20th, 1995

"I still can't believe you bailed on us," Ron said over breakfast.

Hermione rolled her eyes but otherwise ignored him. "So your new project's going well?" she said to Fred instead.

He nodded happily. "Padfoot's been fantastic, really. He's been working hard and we've made some really good progress. George and I are still mostly handling the prank stuff by ourselves, you know, but it's nice to have help with the more serious stuff." He sent Hermione a wink. "Especially from someone who has enough experience to know what kinds of things are actually useful. Like George and I had all sorts of ideas, but no clue which ones were practical and which weren't, you know?"

"It was a brilliant idea, them working together," Harry said happily. "I can tell from his letters that he's doing loads better. He's still feeling cooped up, but he's handling it better now. Less restless, I think."

"I'm really happy to hear that," Hermione said, pleased with the praise. "Do you have anything exciting planned, then?" she asked Fred.

Fred shrugged, a coy smile on his face. "Maybe," he admitted. "I'll tell you about it later, once it's a little more firm."

"So we're not talking about Hermione being friends with Snape, then?" Ron said, as the three of them left Fred to head to class.

"We're not friends!" Hermione protested, face turning pink. "We've just been brewing potions."

"I don't know how you could stand spending time with such a nasty git," Ron muttered. Harry rolled his eyes, and pointedly walked behind them so as to not get caught up in their argument. Which he was hearing for maybe the tenth time.

"He's not nasty to me," Hermione said firmly. "He's actually been really nice!"

"Or maybe you just think he's being nice to you because he's been so mean to you your brain blocked it out!" Ron said triumphantly.

Hermione stared at him, mouth agape. "You're an idiot," she finally said in frustration. "He's genuinely been nice to me. He got me a birthday present!"

"What?" Ron and Harry both said. Ron stopped short. "You're kidding me, right?" he said.

"I'm not! It was very thoughtful," Hermione said defensively.

Ron stared at her for a moment, at a loss for words. "Was it nicer than mine?" he finally said, and Hermione rolled her eyes and walked away from him.

"Wait! Does that mean yes?" Ron called after her, before turning to Harry. Who had also started heading towards class. "Not you too!" he cried, before sighing and following them.

None of them noticed Draco Malfoy around the corner behind them, listening with wide eyes.

* * *

September 21st, 1995

"Hermioneeeeee," Ron whined, slouched in the comfy armchair in front of the fire. "You said you were almost done twenty minutes ago."

"This time I am almost done!" Hermione said cheerfully, putting the finishing touches on the letter to her parents. "They're probably so bored in hiding. I just want them to know I'm safe and doing well!" She'd send it out with an owl later.

Harry came down the stairs from his dorm. "The twins are ready!" he said excitedly. "They finally finished talking about their next project," he added with an eye roll.

"Finally!" Ron said, sitting up in his chair. "I thought I was going to go mad waiting."

"See?" Hermione said pointedly to Ron. "I was right on time."

George finally came down, joined by Fred a moment later, who was carrying something small wrapped in a scarf.

"Where are we doing this?" Fred asked in a hushed voice. He looked around the common room pointedly, where a few people were relaxing.

The five of them looked at each other contemplatively.

"Anyone in the dorm?" Ron asked Harry.

Harry nodded. "Just Neville, though."

"Well, Neville won't mind," Hermione said. "Right?"

"Back upstairs, then," George said with a sigh.

Fred punched his arm. "Don't complain, you need the exercise."

"Are you saying I'm getting chubby?" George asked in mock horror, patting his stomach.

"I'm saying you're fat," Fred said, and then sprinted up the stairs before George could grab him. George chased after him.

"How do they have so much energy all the time," Hermione muttered to herself.

Ron grinned. "Mum is always asking the same thing. I think mum drank too much coffee when she was pregnant."

"I don't think that's how pregnancy works," Harry said doubtfully, and Hermione just shook her head.

Harry and Ron's dorm was empty except for a tussling Fred and George and a very concerned Neville.

"They just came in here and started fighting!" Neville exclaimed to the three of them, eyes wide.

"Yeah mate, they do that sometimes," Ron said with a shrug.

"Sorry Neville," Hermione said. "We're going to chat with a friend and they just got too excited."

Neville looked between the three of them, who were casually staring back. He sighed. "I needed to go to the library anyway," he mumbled to himself.

"Thanks Neville!" Harry beamed, and slapped Neville's shoulder as he went by. "I'll save you some breakfast tomorrow so you can sleep in, eh?"

Neville smiled slightly. "All right, Harry, that sounds good," he said, and left the room.

"Maybe we should make more of an effort to include him in things," Hermione said, uncertain.

"Oh, he's all right," Ron said, with a wave of his hand. "That's just Neville."

"If you say so," Hermione said, and went to sit on Harry's bed. "Come on, you've got it then?" she addressed the twins.

The twins sprang up to standing, Fred still holding the small bundle. "Here we go!" he said, and pulled the scarf away with a flourish, revealing the mirror they'd been waiting for.

Harry grabbed it out of his hands and sat down on his bed next to Hermione.

"Hey!" Fred said, but sat down without further protest, followed by Ron and George.

"Sirius Black," Harry intoned into the mirror. After a moment, Harry's reflection was replaced by Sirius' grinning face.

"Looks like everyone's here!" Sirius said in excitement, looking over everyone.

Variations of "Hi Sirius!" were said by everyone on the bed.

"How are you doing?" Harry asked eagerly.

"Pretty good!" Sirius said. Hermione could see that he was telling the truth. The worry lines on his face had relaxed a little, and his smile was more genuine than it had been over the summer. "We're making great progress, eh boys?" he said, winking at the twins.

"Yessir!" Fred and George said obediently, and then grinned at each other.

"What are you working on?" Harry asked curiously. "Fred and George wouldn't tell me anything."

"Sorry Harry, I'm sworn to secrecy," Sirius said solemnly. "But you'll find out soon enough! We're almost done the testing phase," he added with a cackle.

"Anything I should be worried about?" Harry asked, but he was obviously excited.

Sirius laughed. "I still can't tell you anything. But I promise that you'll find out soon. Oh! That reminds me. Happy late birthday Hermione!"

Hermione startled. "How did you know it was my birthday?" she asked suspiciously, looking at the boys on the bed.

Harry grinned at her. "Sorry Hermione."

"I've got a present for you!" Sirius continued. "Next time I see you, yeah?"

"You got me a present?" Hermione said, pleased. "Thank you!"

"Just something the twins and I whipped up," Sirius said casually.

Hermione's smiled froze. "Oh," she said nervously, looking back and forth between the twins and Sirius.

"Nothing bad, I promise!" Sirius laughed. "I know you're a prefect."

"Thank you, Sirius!" Hermione said, with more trepidation than she had a moment ago.

"So, tell me about…" and the six of them descended into happy conversation.

* * *

September 22nd, 1995

Hermione dutifully stirred the potion she was working on. Professor Snape was grading papers at his desk, scowling down at them. She wondered if any student would be surprised to learn that Professor Snape hated grading essays as much as the students hated writing them.

But Hermione was feeling too cheerful to be content brewing in silence. "What are you grading?" she asked, unable to help herself.

Professor Snape's quill stilled, and after a moment he looked up at her. He didn't look angry, more… baffled. "First year essays," he said after a moment.

Hermione was thrilled that he'd answered her question. "That makes sense. You looked like they'd personally offended you."

Professor Snape looked down at his papers, then back up at her, expression unreadable. "They did," he finally said, and Hermione couldn't help the laugh that escaped her lips.

For a moment, she thought she saw Professor Snape look pleased, but then the expression was gone.

After a few minutes of them working in silence again, Hermione once more piped up "Will we be learning about counter-brewing this year?"

"That's a NEWT-level topic," Professor Snape responded without looking at her. "You'll get to it next year."

Hermione was flattered by the insinuation that she'd make it into his NEWT-level class.

After another few minutes, she asked "Did you know—"

"Yes," Professor Snape said, cutting her off. His quill danced as he wrote another undoubtedly scathing remark across the essay he was grading.

Hermione paused for a moment, taken aback. Then she continued anyway, although very different from how she intended to start: "Did you know the modern jackalope has over a hundred children every year?"

Snape paused, still staring down at the essay. After a long, quiet moment, he finally raised his head, his face blank. "Yes," he said, and Hermione might have even believed him if not for the fact that she'd made it up.

"Actually, sorry, I meant puffskeins, not jackalopes," Hermione corrected, unable to keep the satisfaction from her tone. "Completely different things! Jackalopes only give birth once a year."

She half expected him to yell at her, but instead his lips quirked in something that was almost approaching a smile, and he said "Fine, what is it?"

"Is it just me or are the Defence professors getting worse every year?" Hermione asked, feeling more bold than she had a moment ago.

Professor Snape sighed and threw down his quill. "It's not just you," he admitted. "There is a rumour that the position is cursed, and given how long it's been since we've had someone last more than a year, I would not be surprised."

"Cursed?" Hermione asked curiously. "I didn't know that was possible."

"Finally something the great Hermione Granger does not know," Professor Snape said, but it wasn't rude like Hermione was used to hearing. It was almost… teasing. "Yes, usually curses are tied to something physical, but I suspect that this curse is within the Hogwarts wards themselves."

"That's incredible!" Hermione said, and Professor Snape raised an eyebrow at her. "I mean, it must have very difficult to pull off! And without anyone being able to find it."

"Indeed," Professor Snape agreed. "Many people no longer believe any such curse exists at all, after searching for years and being unable to find it. The Headmaster, of course, still believes."

"Whoever cast it must be very powerful," Hermione said, a touch fearfully. She could only think of one person who had the means and the motive.

"Likely so," Professor Snape said, eyeing her thoughtfully. "It is poss-"

"Severus," the portrait on the wall interrupted. "Albus needs to see you in his office immediately."

"It cannot wait until I'm finished here?" Professor Snape asked, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

"What does immediately mean to you, then?" the portrait asked snidely.

Professor Snape rolled his eyes. Hermione was fascinated at the show of humanity from her normally distant professor. "Very well. Miss Granger, I'm afraid our time together has been cut short. I shall see you on Sunday for our next session."

"Yes, professor," Hermione said obediently, and quickly packed up before following him out of the office. Our time together, he'd said. Like it was something precious.

Her heart skipped a beat.

* * *

September 23rd, 1995

"You're going to spend the weekend in the library?" Ron asked Hermione, aghast. They were at breakfast late Saturday morning.

Hermione gave him an unimpressed look. "Does that surprise you?"

"No," Ron laughed. "Not really."

"And anyway, you should be studying too," Hermione reminded him.

Ron shook his head. "No point. We both know I'm going to fail anyway."

"That's the spirit!" Harry said, joining them at the table. "Let's go flying this afternoon!"

"That sounds much better than studying," Ron cheered. "I'll borrow George's broom. He still owes me."

Hermione sighed. "Really though, you'll study at some point, right? Only I made up study guides the other day, and I thought-"

"We promise," Harry said, and even he sounded kind of sincere.

"Miss Granger," Professor Mcgonagall said, coming over to where Hermione was sitting. She had a serious look on her face. "The Headmaster wishes to talk to you."

"Me?" Hermione asked in surprise. Harry and Ron looked confused as well.

"Yes. Right now, if you will," Professor Mcgonagall said.

"See you later," Ron called after her as she left.

Hermione tried to read Professor Mcgonagall's face as they walked, but she couldn't tell anything. Was this about Order business?

Professor Snape was in the office when they arrived. She immediately noticed him, leaning against the windowsill, looking worried. She felt a shiver of uncertainty in her stomach. Had she ever seen Professor Snape look worried before?

"Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore said. "Please sit." His face was somber.

Professor Mcgonagall was still there, but she remained standing near the door.

Hermione sat down obediently, smoothing her robes over her lap.

"Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore said again, and then paused.

"Albus," Professor Snape said warningly. "Be frank." An unreadable look passed between the two of them.

"There was an attack on one of our safe houses," Professor Dumbledore said. "Your parents have been killed."

Hermione stared down at the desk in front of her. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. "I don't understand," she said, not looking up. "That's not possible." She'd only just sent them a letter.

"The attack occurred last night, while they were…" He kept talking, but Hermione couldn't understand any of the words. Her world had shrunk, focused on the single point on the desk she was staring at. There was parchment, both larger sheets and scraps scattered around. There was an elegant quill, made out of a bright red feather. It was laying on the desk. Had he been writing when she came in?

She tried to read the parchment upside down, but the writing was an old-fashioned cursive heavy with loops and flourishes. She thought it might be a letter of some sorts, since she could almost recognise the format of it. Who would he be writing to? Although really, there were so many options. Professor Dumbledore was a very important person, involved in all sorts of political positions. Maybe he was writing someone in the Ministry, or perhaps he was still involved in some sort of research. Hermione wondered what research adult wizards did. Certainly it was something she would be interested in pursuing as a career. She loved learning things and solving problems. Before she'd learned she was a witch, she'd wanted to be a scientist.

"Miss Granger, did you hear me?" Professor Dumbledore's voice broke into her thoughts.

"Sorry professor. Could you repeat the last part?" Hermione asked. Her voice was steady, perfectly polite. Why was she short of breath? Everything was fine.

"Certain arrangements will need to be made. Do you have any family who might assist you?"

"No other family, just my parents," Hermione said. Neither of her parents had any siblings. Her mother was estranged from her parents, to the point where Hermione didn't even know their names, and her father's parents had died long ago. It had always been just her and them. It'd always been that way.

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "Then I'm afraid you'll have to make the arrangements yourself, although I imagine Professor Mcgonagall or-" He glanced over at where Professor Snape was standing. "Or Professor Snape would gladly assist you. Due to Professor Umbridge's increased scrutiny on the comings and goings of the student body, I believe the best thing for you would be to stay at Grimmauld Place until your affairs are settled. It is not uncommon for students to take time off in these situations." The last part was said so kindly. Why?

Hermione stared at him blankly. "I have a potions exam on Monday," she said. "I have to study. I can't leave."

"You foolish girl, do you understand what he's telling you?" Professor Snape said harshly.

Hermione looked over at him, confused, and his face softened. "I don't understand," she said honestly.

"I'm sure Professor Snape will exempt you from the exam," Professor Dumbledore said, giving Professor Snape a warning look.

"Of course," Professor Snape said. He still looked worried. Why was he worried?

"Can I go back to my dorm?" Hermione asked. Everything would be okay. She had a plan. She would sort out this confusion.

"Miss Granger, your parents are dead. Do you understand?" Professor Snape asked again. He sounded upset.

"Yes sir," Hermione said politely. "I'd like to go back to my dorm now."

Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape exchanged looks.

"I'll take her back to collect her things," Professor Mcgonagall said. "And then I can see her to headquarters."

Professor Snape looked like he wanted to protest, but he stayed where he was.

Professor Mcgonagall took Hermione to the portrait, but she didn't come in the common room. Hermione went to Harry's dorm looking for the mirror. He'd been using it last night, she knew, to chat with Sirius.

It was still on his bedside table. "Hello Neville," Hermione said. "Sorry to bother you, I'm just grabbing something." Everything would be fine. She felt sick to her stomach. Was she coming down with something?

Neville waved her on, not even looking up from his textbook.

Hermione took the mirror to the bathroom, where there was some privacy.

"Sirius Black," she said firmly into the mirror.

"I'm almost— Hermione?" Sirius asked curiously. "Is everything all right?"

He didn't seemed concerned about her, or worried like everyone else was. So it was probably safe to ask. "Hey Sirius, I was wondering if you knew the address where my parents are staying? I'm worried sending an owl might be unsafe, so I wanted to send them a letter by muggle post instead."

"Oh yeah, I think I have it somewhere. I'm surprised you don't already have it."

"I never asked earlier so I wouldn't be tempted to go see them. I just gave my letters to Professor Lupin," Hermione said with a small laugh. The words came out automatically. Her expression shifted by itself, matching Sirius' light tone. She was operating on autopilot, she knew. She was having trouble thinking.

"Hermione, I think you can call him Remus by now," Sirius said with a laugh. "Oh, here we go." He rattled off the address to her, and she wrote it down quickly.

"Thanks Sirius, I'll talk to you later."

"Okay," Sirius said, amused.

Hermione shook the mirror to clear it, and returned it to Harry's bedside table. She left the dorm without another look back, and went to her own to collect her stuff.

She emptied out her book bag and packed a change of clothes and everything she needed for the homework she had due this week. Cleaning charms could take care of everything else. She would be back soon, she thought, but best be careful. Surely this misunderstanding would get sorted out soon enough. She also packed her money pouch, both wizard and muggle.

The tower was strangely silent as she walked back down to where Professor Mcgonagall was waiting. She could see people talking to each other, their lips and hands moving, but she couldn't hear anything they said.

"I'm ready," she told the professor. And then they were in her office.

Professor Mcgonagall's office was chilly, a draft coming in from the open window.

"You'll use my floo," Professor Mcgonagall said, giving Hermione a long look. "Hermione…" she said softly, and that was the first time Hermione had ever heard Professor Mcgonagall use her first name. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm tired," Hermione said honestly. Even though it wasn't even noon yet, she felt physically exhausted. Harry had been telling her she needed to get more sleep. Maybe she should listen to him. Or probably she was coming down with something. Was it flu season yet? Why didn't wizards have a magic cure for the common cold? You'd think with all of magic at their disposal they would've been able to figure it out. But no, the closest thing they had was Pepper-Up, which merely masked your symptoms. Perhaps she would be a healer, when she grew up. Her parents would like that. Her being a doctor was something they could tell their friends.

Professor Mcgonagall smiled sadly at her. "Of course you are," she said. "You'll be able to nap soon. I imagine your bedroom from the summer is still free."

It was, Hermione knew. Since she'd been there so long, Sirius had let her clear out a room upstairs for her own use. She'd spent a few weeks cleaning, but when she was done it'd felt as cozy as her bedroom back home. She even had a bookshelf for all her books.

Someone knocked at Professor Mcgonagall's door. "You'll be fine by yourself?" she stated more than asked, and Hermione nodded.

Hermione was in a familiar kitchen. It was empty, not even any dishes left over from breakfast. Sirius didn't really eat breakfast, as far as Hermione remembered.

Sirius wasn't waiting for her. He still didn't know.

Hermione turned around, and threw more floo powder into the fire. She would take care of this. She would clear up this confusion.

"Diagon Alley," she said firmly, and stepped through.


	3. Chapter 3

September 23rd, 1995 (early afternoon)

Hermione had always been good at focusing. When she was a girl, she'd get so absorbed in the books she read that she wouldn't hear her mum calling for her, or wouldn't hear the bell ring for lunch, or would almost miss her stop on the bus. Maybe that's why she'd always had trouble making friends. The other girls would call to her and she'd ignore them, and they'd think she was doing it on purpose.

She wasn't, though. She just found books so interesting.

It hadn't helped that she'd probably been the only kid who was actually friends with the teacher. And the librarian. And her parents, of course. Hermione had always felt more comfortable around adults than around children, even when she was a child.

Her parents used to tell her she was too mature for her age, and the other children would catch up eventually. Hermione had half believed them, enough to keep her chin up through the years of loneliness. And anyway she had her parents. They'd kept her busy with trips to museums and historical sites, theatre visits, and as many books as she'd wanted. She'd grown up healthy, happy, and loved.

Then she went to Hogwarts. And suddenly there'd been this gulf between them. They'd been hesitant to even allow her to go, so from her very first letter she'd done everything she could to show them what a great time she was having. She didn't tell them that no one liked her, or that some of the kids ignored her because of her family. She didn't tell them about the teachers who couldn't (or wouldn't) teach, about the constant feeling of not being good enough. From there her omissions only got more egregious, aided by the school's reluctance to tell muggle parents anything, apparently. She never told them about the troll, about being petrified. By the end of her second year, her letters had gotten so infrequent that her absence went unremarked upon.

The summers were better again. There were trips and activities, and lazy days spent reading on the beach. She didn't talk to her parents as much as she used to, but the silences were comfortable.

But she always kept one eye on the calendar, looking forward to when she'd be going back to Hogwarts. Back to her real life, as she thought of it.

When she told her parents they needed to go into hiding, they'd been surprised. But they hadn't even asked her if she'd be going with them. Her mother had taken one, long look at her, filled with indecipherable pain, and they'd gone without protest.

Hermione had been relieved.

She was a bad daughter, and she knew it, but what could she do? They lived in different worlds. And now they were in an Order safe house, somewhere completely muggle where they could go undetected, and continue living their lives in peace.

That was where Hermione was headed now, with a laser-focus. She didn't think about what Professor Dumbledore had said, or the look on Professor Snape's face. She didn't think about missing classes or Sirius waiting at Grimmauld Place or having to make arrangements.

She needed to get to the safe house. Then everything would be okay. She'd go to the safe house, and things would be fine.

She'd taken a train out to the city it was in, and then called a cab from there. She had the money, she wasn't worried. She kept thinking about what her parents would say when she surprised them. They'd be so pleased to see her, she decided. They'd invite her in and show her around their new house, which they would've decorated just so. Her mum would make her tea, and ask her about her trip. Her dad would sit at the table with them, quiet but smiling.

She'd apologise for the visit, since it would mean they'd have to move again (at least that part was easier with magic), and they would sigh and fuss but they'd smile warmly at her and give her a big hug and tell her she was worth it.

She didn't think about the owl she'd sent. The one she'd sent without thinking, which knew her parents well enough to find them without an address by now. She didn't think about what Professor Dumbledore had said when they first went into hiding, about how any owl post would draw a great big target on their house, and how she should only communicate using muggle mail. She didn't think about how out of everything she could've forgotten, all the dates from history and magical plant properties from herbology, all of which she could bring to mind perfectly, she'd forgotten the one fact that was critical to keeping her parents safe. She'd gotten so used to not owling that she'd forgotten there was a reason for it this time.

Hermione didn't think about any of that as the cab pulled up to the house. It was smaller than the one they'd used to live in. She supposed they didn't need as much space anymore. Still, she could see her father's influence on the garden, the carefully arranged flower beds and small patches of vegetables.

She marched straight up to the front door, hands shaking, heart racing. She knocked briskly, and prepared herself to see her mother's smiling face. She told herself she was nervous about how her parents would react. She didn't acknowledge the fear, the cold dread that had encompassed her heart. She knocked on the door again after a long moment of no answer.

The door opened.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

Bellatrix Lestrange smiled down at her.

* * *

September 23rd, 1995 (evening)

"What do you mean, she's gone?" Severus shouted at Minerva.

"I mean exactly what I say," Minerva said stiffly. "Black said she never arrived at Grimmauld Place."

"Never arrived? I thought you brought her through the floo!" Severus said. He wasn't panicking. But it was closer than he would ever admit.

"She's perfectly capable of flooing by herself," Minerva answered, insulted by his insinuation that she'd been negligent. "I heard her articulate her destination quite clearly. She must have left immediately after." She sighed, rubbing at her temple. "What a mess. Regardless, I'm sure she's gone to the safe house, poor thing. Black said she asked for the address earlier today. We've had someone keeping an eye on it since the attack. They'll send her right straight back to Grimmauld." She shook her head sadly. "That poor, poor girl."

"Someone's still there?" Severus asked curiously. Albus hadn't given him any details about the attack, only that Granger's parents had been killed and the safe house compromised.

"To keep an eye out, yes. I sincerely doubt she'll be returning, however. I believe her point's been made."

"Whose point?" Severus asked, a sudden chill going down his spine.

"Bellatrix Lestrange, of course," Minerva said, wrinkling her nose. "That awful girl."

Severus stood so quickly he felt his head rush. "We need to go immediately," he said harshly.

"What?" Minerva asked, astonished.

"Bellatrix isn't finished. The murders weren't to make a point. They were bait."

* * *

September 23rd, 1995 (evening)

Hermione had been stupid. She was smart enough to know that. She was also smart enough to know that she was going to die here, staring at the lifeless bodies of her parents, and there was nothing she could do about it. Even as the sharp chill of dread trickled down her spine, as her bones ached with the pains of torture, part of her was viciously glad that she was here. Wasn't this no more than she deserved? The logical consequences of the choices she'd made?

Bellatrix had taken her wand. Bellatrix had laughed at her fear, had laughed at her screams. A flick of her wand had all that had been required to wrap Hermione in heavy black chains, and she'd sat Hermione down in her parents' sitting room, so different than the one she'd grown up in but achingly familiar in style.

There was blood everywhere. Her parents were staring at her, mouths slightly parted in surprise. A look that would stay on their faces forever. Never again would Hermione see her mother smile at her, or her father's grimace over having sprouts for dinner. She'd never see her mother wink at her over morning tea, or see her father's eyes crinkle as he laughed at the telly in the evenings.

There was an owl on the floor too. Hermione recognised it. Of course she did, she'd sent it off only a few days ago. The same school owl she always used. A letter to her parents about how her birthday had gone, and how excited she was about being a prefect. The letter was gone. Had her parents read it?

At the end of the letter, had she told her parents she loved them? She couldn't remember now. Had she just ended the letter saying goodbye? Or with lots of love? Hugs and kisses? What had she said to them?

"Poor little girl," Bellatrix called out from the kitchen, where she was raiding the cabinets. "Parents decided to leave you, hmm? Did they say it was safer without you? Or did you decide to leave them?" She cackled at the thought, making a dreadful racket as she pulled pots and pans out, leaving them strewn about the floor.

Hermione didn't respond. She was staring at her mother, who was still wearing her favourite sweater. It was cozy and soft, but still thin enough to wear in the early fall. Perfect for those first chilly nights.

"Maybe you thought they were boring?" Bellatrix said, the poison from her mouth wriggling through Hermione's ears and into her brain, even as she tried not to listen. "They're just muggles, after all. Nowhere near as interesting as magic!"

What had she put in the letter? Had she told them she loved them? Did they die thinking she didn't love them?

"Maybe you don't even mind that they're gone, hmm? Have I done you a favour, little girl?" Bellatrix leaned against the doorway from the kitchen. She held an apple in her hand, that she was slowly peeling with one of the larger kitchen knives.

Hermione remembered that knife. Bellatrix had used it to carve the word "mudblood" into her arm earlier that evening. How long had she been here? How many curses had she been under? She'd lost count so quickly.

"No comments? Does that mean I'm right then?" Bellatrix asked, with a crazed grin.

Hermione didn't say anything. Her throat was rubbed raw from screaming. She wasn't sure she could make a sound even if she wanted to. She didn't even know what sound she would make. She was tired. So, so tired. She wanted Bellatrix to kill her, instead of dragging it out and making her wait.

She wanted to see her parents again, alive and happy and full of life. She'd never been religious, never believed in any sort of afterlife, but… there were ghosts, weren't there? Didn't that have to be proof? That some form of her parents still existed, if only she could find it, if only she could join them.

"Where is he!" Bellatrix half muttered, half shouted to herself. She was looking impatiently through the window. "I thought he would've come already. Unless Draco was wrong." She gave Hermione an appraising look. "Maybe I killed the wrong parents then? Ha!" She barked out a laugh, surprising Hermione in her momentary similarity to Sirius. "How would you feel, girlie, if I told you your parents died for nothing! Typical muggles, eh? Can't even die properly."

Hermione didn't answer. She didn't care. No matter what Bellatrix said, Hermione knew her parents hadn't died for nothing. They'd died for her stupidity.

Bellatrix was pacing back and forth, clearly impatient. Suddenly, her wand started vibrating, and a crazed grin erupted on her face. "There we go," she cooed softly. "Maybe Draco isn't as worthless as I thought. Do you like that, mudblood?" she asked Hermione. "He came for you after all. True love," she said happily, a soft smile on her face that transformed her into someone else. But then the smile disappeared, and there was a wicked smirk in its place. "He'll finally pay," she muttered to herself gleefully. "And no one will be able to blame me. After all, he was trying to rescue a mudblood! It's only fitting that I should try to stop him. Treacherous, treacherous little Slytherin, even for us Slytherins, yes?" she asked Hermione, and Hermione didn't think Bellatrix saw her at all. She had a far-off look in her eyes.

Hermione stared at her parents. More people would die tonight. She desperately, desperately wanted to be the first.

* * *

September 23rd, 1995 (evening)

Severus Snape was a fool. He knew this. Albus knew this. And now Minerva knew this as well. Because while she'd gone off to fetch Albus, Severus had slipped out of the castle and gone to the safe house.

He couldn't stop himself, was the problem. He felt like an outsider in his own head, watching someone else control his actions. He screamed at himself to stop, to wait, but then he thought of her face, and his body took off into a run.

Bellatrix would be waiting, he knew. And she wouldn't hold back. She'd set this up to trap him, so of course the smart thing to do would be to wait, and plan carefully his moves, and then go in with a whole group of the Gryffindor cannon-fodder that called themselves Order members.

Yet here he was, silently creeping up a muggle street, with only his wand and his wits. And it seemed his wits were in short supply.

Severus waved his wand carefully as he went, looking for alarms or traps. The street itself was littered with them, but he went carefully through backyards, keeping to the shadows so even the faint shimmer of the disillusionment charm wouldn't be seen.

There was an alarm around the small garden of the safe house. It was well hidden, so that you needed to be almost on top of it before you could detect it. But Severus had been going very slowly, some part of him apparently still sane, and he'd carefully avoided detecting it.

What he hadn't detected was the second alarm charm, carefully layered under the first so that they were in the exact same spot.

Severus immediately moved into the shadow of the house, away from where he'd triggered the alarm. He waited for Bellatrix to emerge, but she didn't. The small but respectable house took on a threatening air as Severus realised that likely Bellatrix had turned the whole house into a death trap for him. And now she knew he was here.

His best bet was the basement. The entrances were carefully hidden, as the basement was intended to function as hideaway for emergency supplies. It was possible Bellatrix didn't know about it, and thus hadn't cursed it. It was his only chance for safe entry into the house.

He found the door relatively easily, since he'd helped hide it in the first place, and slipped carefully into the darkness, making sure the door was sealed shut behind him.

The basement was pitch black, so Severus cast the tiniest light he could on the ceiling. Immediately several tall, dark shapes came into view — the outlines of the boxes that were stored down here.

It was practically a maze navigating through everything, and Severus was almost where he thought the exit was when he heard the sound of something rustling behind him.

Immediately he stilled. He double-checked that his disillusionment charm was still active, then carefully sidled behind the nearest stack of boxes.

He waited silently for something to happen, but he saw nothing. He'd just given up and started towards the door again when he heard the sound of rustling again, coming from the opposite side of the basement.

Severus weighed his options, and found all of them lacking. Already filled with regret at his decision, he made his way as quickly as possible for the door up from the basement. After all, he was fairly sure that if Bellatrix had left a trap down here, it would've triggered immediately. Although he was not as sure as he liked to be.

He made it up the stairs without incident, and cast a listening charm on the door. He couldn't hear anything. Bellatrix had likely noticed her alarm trigger. With luck, she'd be occupied preparing something nasty at the back door and wouldn't notice him enter the kitchen. But when had he ever been lucky?

Normally he would've waited longer at the door listening, but he heard another rustle from down the basement steps, closer this time. With a silent prayer to no one in particular, he opened the door as little as possible and slipped through.

Someone must've been listening, for the kitchen was empty. There were bloody footsteps on the ground, about the size of an adult female, and he could see through to the sitting room which had blood spatters on the walls. A chill went down his spine. He closed the basement door silently with a hasty spell, and noted that the charms on it to keep it hidden were still in place. Perhaps Bellatrix hadn't found the basement then. Begging the question of what had been moving around down there.

Severus crept carefully towards the sitting room, avoiding the alarm spells and the gruesome traps he detected and keeping an eye and ear out for any sign of movement. Thankfully the more powerful the trap, the more easy it was to detect… And Bellatrix had always gone in for the flashy. He stopped short when he finally saw Granger, sitting on the sofa, tied up in chains.

She looked… empty. Her face was devoid of all emotion, and her eyes were completely blank. She stared, fixated, at two corpses on the ground. Granger's parents, they must've been. The woman had the same curly brown hair and tan skin, made a sickly colour with her death.

Severus watched her, unable to help himself. After all, he'd done this to her. It was his fault she looked so small and fragile, with a bruise just starting to spread across her cheek and blood streaking down from her nose.

"The guest of honour!" Bellatrix said from behind him, startling him so badly he almost dropped his wand. An embarrassingly bad start to what was sure to be a brutal fight. "Severus, oh Severus, won't you let me see your pretty face?"

Severus stayed silent, not dropping the disillusionment. As long as he was hidden, she couldn't be sure it was him. Which meant none of his signature spells, either. His attention was on Bellatrix now, but out of the corner of his eye he could see that Granger was looking at them.

Bellatrix cast silently at him and he deflected it without a thought. She cackled with pleasure. "So quick," she said gleefully. "But not quick enough, I think." They traded lethal spells back and forth, neither of them gaining any sort of advantage. This sort of dueling, slow and thoughtful, was more reminiscent of chess than a brawl.

"Severus, dear Severus," Bellatrix crooned, as the pace of her casting sped up. Severus was no slouch when it came to dueling, but needing to stay hidden put him at a disadvantage. Bellatrix was constantly casting finite at him, which took much less effort to cast but required the same amount of shielding and dodging from him. "Have you come to rescue your love?" she asked wickedly.

Severus didn't look over at Granger, even though he desperately wanted to. He needed to stay focused and not let her distract him.

"Perhaps she doesn't know that you love her?" Bellatrix asked. Her wand flicked through the air, sending beams of light shooting at him. "Perhaps you haven't told her yet of my present. Of course, my curse doesn't create love from nowhere," she said slyly, barely breaking a sweat from their duel. "You must've already loved her in order for the curse to work. All it does is bring the emotions to the surface, after all."

Severus decided then and there that she was lying, no matter how much he wanted to believe her. It was just the sort of thing she would do, and even if she weren't lying… Well, what sort of difference would it make? But his moment of distraction cost him, and he found himself slowly getting backed into a corner of the room, near the sofa.

Bellatrix advanced on him, her casting speeding up now that she sensed the end was near.

Just as Severus was starting to think it was time to give up on staying hidden, Bellatrix's curse went wide as her wand started vibrating mid-cast. "You've brought friends!" she said, delighted.

He… hadn't. And there was no way Albus had already sent people over. Severus knew their response time wasn't that good.

There was a sound from the kitchen. The sound of a basement door slamming open.

Bellatrix stepped back towards the kitchen, wand already up and casting when what looked like a lion burst out of the kitchen and landed on Bellatrix, knocking her to the ground. She shrieked in surprise, and Severus immediately turned to Granger, casting quickly to remove the chains. He pulled the girl up by the hand, and immediately she started clinging to him.

Granger looked up at his invisible form. "Professor?" she asked faintly. Severus could feel her heart hammering wildly in her chest, could feel the warm press of her against his side.

"Stay calm," he whispered to her. She kept staring at him, somehow meeting his eyes even through the disillusionment.

"That was quite the surprise!" Bellatrix said, brushing herself off as she stood up, the corpse of the animal cooling on the ground. "Where did you get a baby nundu of all things?"

Severus didn't answer her, instead gave the nundu a critical look. It was larger than a full-grown lion. He'd never seen a nundu in person, but he was suddenly immensely glad it was dead.

"I suppose you didn't know that I happen to have a special way with animals," Bellatrx said, twirling her wand idly. She didn't seem to be rushing to get back into the duel. Perhaps he'd tired her out after all. "I got an outstanding on my Care of Magical Creatures NEWT. You wouldn't have known that, of course."

Actually he had known that. When she'd first joined right out of school she never shut up about her NEWT scores. They'd been quite good, actually.

In one quick motion, Bellatrix summoned Granger away from him. He immediately went to grab her, and Bellatrix took the opportunity to petrify him where he stood, arm still out.

The disillusionment fell, but Bellatrix was rather occupied torturing Granger right in front of him. She cast crucio after crucio as he desperately worked to dispel the petrification. It was strong, despite her distraction, and even though he was holding his wand it still took him far too long to break her hold

Granger was still at Bellatrix's feet. There was a trickle of blood running from her mouth down the side of her face, and Bellatrix seemed to take a great glee in kicking the girl while she was down.

Severus felt a rage build inside him. He screamed incoherently and flung out his wand to cast at her— what exactly, he couldn't say— but he never got the chance.

Just when Severus thought Bellatrix had brought the girl down for good, just when he thought Granger was dead— Granger shot to her feet, punched Bellatrix in her face, and snatched the wand right out of her hand. All it took was a single meaningful look over at him before they were running, racing out of the house and away from Bellatrix, although not fast enough for Severus to avoid a painful curse that grazed his side.

Granger grabbed desperately at Severus' hand, and for a moment his heart fluttered, but then he knew what she meant. They were outside the anti-apparition wards. With a twist and a gut-wrenching crack, they were gone.

Severus was not a foolish man. He knew it was possible to love someone without liking them. How could he not, when his own mother proved it so? She'd loved him, of that he was sure. She'd taken care of him when he needed it, and sacrificed her own well-being to keep his away from the worst of his father's anger.

But he knew she hadn't liked him, and he hadn't blamed her. Without him, she would've been able to leave his father when she was still young and fresh. Her parents would have overlooked her youthful indiscretions and welcomed her back into their home. But they never would've accepted him, their bastard halfblood grandson. And his mother had loved him too much to leave him with his father, even if it would've saved herself.

She'd loved him, but she'd also resented him, and he'd known that.

He'd thought it would be the same way with Granger. Deep, inexplainable love… but love without context, without respect or affection. The way one loved when one didn't have any other choice. But now, as he stood outside the gates of Hogwarts, side aching with burning pain, still holding onto her hand as they greedily sucked in great breaths of cool, safe air… he knew he'd been wrong.

"That was a nice punch," he said quietly, as if ashamed to even admit it. And Hermione looked steadily back at him, a trace of something other than terror and exhaustion in her eyes, and he knew he had a much bigger problem than just love.

* * *

September 23rd, 1995 (late evening)

"Tell me again about the nundu," Albus said, leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him.

"There's nothing else to tell," Severus said wearily, leaning against the wall and trying to ignore the pain in his side. "There was a nundu in the basement." Granger was sitting in an armchair by the fire, drinking a cup of tea. She wasn't paying any attention to their conversation, merely staring into the flames.

"And it was not Bellatrix who put it there?" Albus asked curiously.

"I doubt it. Bellatrix was the only person it attacked, and then she killed it. Who had access to the basement?"

"Mundungus recently moved some items in there," Albus said with a grimace.

Severus rolled his eyes. "And I suppose he had access to the basement without any sort of supervision, correct?"

Albus sighed. "Yes, that's correct."

"Where the devil did Dung get a nundu?" Severus said in amazement, mostly to himself.

Albus shook his head. "I do not know, but I intend to find out. In the meantime…" he glanced over at Granger by the fire. "I think it would be best if both of you stayed with Sirius for a while."

Severus winced. "Surely it would be suspicious for me to disappear—"

"More suspicious than you teaching with a curse wound?" Albus asked, pointedly looking at Severus' side.

"I can ignore it," Severus said through gritted teeth, but he didn't even believe his own words. He could tell there was dark magic in the wound, which would make it resistant to healing via normal means. He would be in some pain for a while, and the treatment would be difficult and time consuming.

"I think it best if you disappear, especially given that Bellatrix has an ear inside the castle. Your injury will only make you more vulnerable to further attacks."

"And if I get summoned?" Severus protested. "What will I do then? My injury will be most suspicious."

Albus shook his head with a small smile. "You will not get summoned."

Severus paused, nonplussed. "How are you so confident?" he asked suspiciously.

"Tom is currently out of the country," Albus said, and did Severus detect a hint of smugness in his tone? "And will not be returning for at least a few weeks."

Severus waited for him to elaborate, but Albus remained infuriatingly silent. Severus decided it wasn't worth giving Albus the satisfaction of asking. It was unlikely that Albus would tell him the truth regardless.

Albus looked disappointed by his lack of questioning, but continued on. "I believe it would also be beneficial for you to take some time to focus on that… other project we discussed," he said discreetly, with a glance over at where Granger was still staring into the fire.

Severus nodded. Trust Albus to have ulterior motives behind his ulterior motives. "Very well," he said obligingly. Even with his curse wound it would likely be more enjoyable than teaching. As long as he could avoid Black, this might even be tolerable. He carefully avoided looking over at Granger. Apparently the curse outweighed even his hatred of Black, if he was actually looking forward to their living arrangements. What powerful magic indeed.

As if she'd read his thoughts, Granger spoke: "What was Lestrange talking about?" Her voice was hoarse, and she didn't look over at them as she spoke. "The… curse."

Albus looked over at Severus. Severus stared back, trying to keep his expression even. Finally, Severus relented.

"Bellatrix cursed me with a rather nasty Black family specialty," he said.

Granger nodded. She looked up at him for a moment, before her gaze quickly skittered away again. Her eyes were unreadable. Without magic, at least. "I see," she said, and Severus feared she would press further, but she stayed blessedly, worryingly, silent.

"Miss Granger…" Albus started, and then hesitated. "I do not blame you for your actions," he finally settled on.

Granger shook her head slightly. "Thank you, sir," she said, her voice stiff. Severus longed to know what was going through her head. Did she blame him for Bellatrix's actions? He blamed himself, he thought. Was she angry at him?

Well, he realised with a sinking horror. It looked like he would have plenty of opportunity to find out.

* * *

Severus' rooms were nicer than he'd expected. Black had grumbled and shouted about letting him stay there, but Albus had told him what happened with quiet whispers, and Black had looked over at Severus with a curiosity that lacked his usual anger. Perhaps Black's hatred of him was surpassed by his hatred of his cousin. Family ties did run deep, after all.

Besides, Albus had made it clear that there wasn't much of a choice, and Black had been pleased enough about having Granger in the house that he seemed willing to overlook Severus' presence as well. Especially given that Severus had been given a room on the first floor, far away from the main portion of the house. Black and Granger had rooms on the top floor, and with luck he'd be able to avoid them. He tried not to examine his feelings towards that prospect too closely.

There was a knock on his door. Three careful taps.

Severus opened the door, somehow not surprised to see Miss Granger standing there, a determined look on her face. He felt his heart sink.

"I need your help," she said, staring him straight in the eye. The shadows under her eyes were a deep purple, and she still had blood smeared down the side of her face.

"With what?" he asked, because what else could he do? Even just the sight of her made him feel indescribably happy and unbearably guilty all at once.

"I'm going to make her pay for what she did," Granger said, her jaw tight. There was a strange look in her eye, as if she were focusing somewhere past him. "Help me stop her. For what she did to me and for… for what she did to you."

Severus leaned against the doorframe, shoulders slumped forward. Bellatrix Lestrange was a vicious enemy to have, which is why he'd always been so careful to never provoke her direct anger. "Revenge will never satisfy you," he warned. A lesson he'd learned all too well. "Revenge won't bring them back."

"I know," Miss Granger said, but did she truly? "But I need to do this. There isn't… there isn't anything else I can do."

And now Miss Granger was going to lead them both to their deaths, and he would follow her without hesitation. "Of course," he murmured, and she let herself into his room. Minerva would throw a fit if she knew. Minerva would throw a fit if she knew a lot of things. He closed the door behind her.

"Great," Granger said, and Severus gaped at the bizarre sight of a Gryffindor muggleborn holding up an antique locket with the Slytherin crest. "We start with this."


	4. Chapter 4

The walls of the house whispered to her.

"Hermione," she could hear faintly. "Hermiiiiioooooneeeeee…"

She never responded, of course, because she wasn't crazy. Only crazy people talked to walls.

Only crazy people saw someone else in the mirror. A tall, handsome boy, in his early twenties, with neat black hair and a charming smile. No, she definitely did not see him in the mirror. She never looked in the mirror.

"Your aura has gotten dark," Professor Snape told her, looking across the room at her. He was sitting at his desk, but twisted away from it, staring at where she sat on his bed, knees drawn to her chest, twisting the blanket with anxious hands.

"It's the locket," she said. The locket she was wearing, which pulsed in time with her heart. The locket she was intimately aware of, connected now as they were.

"Obviously," he responded, but there wasn't a trace of sarcasm. He looked at her as if she were a strange, exotic specimen. He paused for a moment. "It's dark even when you're not wearing it."

"The power stays with me when I take it off," Hermione admitted. "I can feel it."

"Are you… well?" Professor Snape asked delicately.

Hermione shrugged. "I don't really feel anything," she answered honestly.

Professor Snape didn't look reassured by this. "Your health, then," he said. "Since…" Since the ritual. Since she'd torn out part of herself in exchange for-

"It's fine," she said.

"I need more detail than that," Professor Snape said, unamused.

"I've been having chills, I wake up every night at exactly midnight, I have violent nightmares every night, sometimes I hear whispers, and this morning I threw up black ichor," Hermione listed quickly, trying not to dwell on any particular symptom. She knew what it meant. She just needed time.

"Ah," Professor Snape said, leaning back in his chair. He looked at her over steepled fingers. "I did not expect that. Your symptoms are far more severe than I would have expected. It's possible the artefact is more powerful than I imagined. I would advise that you stop wearing it immediately, and disregard this entire plan of action." He said the words clinically, as if he had no personal investment in the situation.

Hermione stared at him, feeling a flush develop on her cheeks. Out of anger or embarrassment, she didn't know. "You said you'd help me," she said.

"I am trying to help you," he said, frustrated desperation creeping into his tone. "This is far worse than dark magic poisoning, I believe your life may be in serious danger." Was that a note of hysteria Hermione heard in his tone?

"It's so much power," Hermione said quietly. "At first I was scared it'd never work but- with this much power, I might have a chance."

"There are other ways," Professor Snape said. "The Order will be looking for her. Let them handle it."

Hermione shook her head. "No, no one else. I won't let anyone else die because of her." She hated Bellatrix Lestrange with every beat of her heart, with every breath she took, with every tortured minute of sleep she struggled through. There was only one person she hated more. "I can do this, I know I can."

"You can do nothing if you are dead," Professor Snape said harshly.

Hermione winced. "It won't kill me," she said weakly. She didn't actually know that for sure. "I just need time," she added. "Just enough time to get Lestrange, and then I'll do whatever purging ritual or whatever I need to do. It'll be fine. It'll all be fine." Was she trying to convince him or herself?

Professor Snape shook his head. "You foolish girl, you don't understand. You don't have time. This locket- whatever it is- will kill you. Purging it- it's likely already too late."

"It doesn't want to kill me," Hermione said automatically, the words coming out of her from somewhere deep inside. "It wants something else." She frowned, unsure of how she knew that.

Professor Snape drew in a sharp breath. "Has it spoken to you?" he asked softly.

She shook her head hesitantly. "No, I mean- well, it hasn't said anything. I don't know how I know, I just do."

"It's deeper than I thought," Professor Snape murmured to himself. "Perhaps it's time to contact Albus-"

"No!" Hermione cried, standing up off the bed before she could help herself. "Absolutely not." The cold rush of fear she felt when she thought of telling Albus Dumbledore what she'd done was unbearable.

"Miss Granger, you must listen to me-"

"No!" Hermione shouted, louder this time. "This is my life, and I'll do what I need to! With or without your help!" With that, she flung the door open and stormed out of his room, her heart beating wildly as she slammed the door behind her.

"Hermione?" came a voice from down the hall.

Hermione winced as panic twisted her stomach into a tight knot. "Oh, Sirius," she said evenly, hoping that she looked more calm than she felt.

"What were you doing in Snivellus' room?" Sirius asked, staring at her with wide eyes.

"Hermione was what?" And of course, Sirius was holding a mirror in his hands.

"I had a potions question," Hermione said slowly. Had he heard her shouting? Surely Professor Snape silenced his room?

Sirius' eyes didn't leave her face, even as the people in the mirror kept asking questions. "A private question?" he asked, and Hermione wondered at the look she saw on his face. The rules were different here than they would be at Hogwarts, they both knew that. But even that didn't make up for being in her professor's bedroom.

"A very quick question," she said.

Sirius nodded. "I've been looking for you," he said, without accusation. His tone was matter-of-fact, but the words felt like daggers.

He knew she was lying. Did he know why? "What's up?" she asked.

"I've got Harry and Ron, they want to talk to you," Sirius said. He held out the mirror, but made no other move towards her.

Hermione didn't look back at the door behind her. "Great," she said, although she was unable to muster even a fake cheer. She walked over and took the mirror from him. "Hello," she said politely, even though talking was the last thing she wanted to do.

Sirius took her elbow gingerly and led her to the kitchen. "I'll make some tea," he muttered, largely to himself.

"Hermione!" Harry said, a grin on his face. "What are you doing at Padfoot's? When are you coming back?"

"And what were you doing in Snape's room?" Ron added in disgust.

Hermione looked over at Sirius, who shook his head slightly. She couldn't believe no one had told them. For a second, she felt a flash of anger. How dare they leave this for her, to have to say the words with her own mouth. But the anger was replaced by cool numbness, and she realised the gift she'd been given. She didn't have to tell them. She could keep her pain private. "Just some f-family stuff," she managed, barely getting the word out. "I'm going to be here a bit, I don't know how long. Probably not too long though."

Sirius set a mug of steaming hot tea in front of her, and sat on the other side of the table. He gave her a measured look. "You can stay as long as you need," he said, quietly enough that the mirror wouldn't pick it up.

"Is everything okay?" Harry asked in concern.

"Yeah, it's fine," Hermione lied. The locket hummed where it sat around her neck. "Don't you two have class soon?" Even here, with everything going on, she knew their class schedule like she knew her own name.

In the mirror, Ron looked at his watch and cursed. "You're right," he said. "Harry, we should go."

"You'll be okay?" Harry asked again.

"It's all fine," Hermione promised. "It'll all be fine." This time she wasn't lying.

Suddenly she was looking at herself in the mirror, for the first time in days. It was her, thank god, and she hadn't even realised how scared she'd been that it wouldn't be. She looked horrible. No wonder Harry was so worried.

Wordlessly, she handed the mirror back to Sirius.

"I meant it," he said. "You can stay as long as you like."

"That desperate for company?" Hermione tried for a joking tone, but it came out flat. She took a sip of her tea. It was terrible.

Sirius fiddled with his mug. "I hated my parents," he said, not looking at her. "When I got out of Azkaban and found out they were dead, I was fucking happy. They were my blood relatives, but I hated them. I hate most of them, actually, especially Bell— fuck." He winced. "I'm cocking this all up. I'm not good at this sort of thing."

"That's okay," Hermione said quietly. "I think I get what you're saying."

"No, you don't," Sirius said, surprising her with the passion in his voice. He leaned forward, looking at her intently. "Look, Hermione, Charlus and Dorea practically raised me, okay? They were there for me when I needed them, over and over. When they died, James and I—" he choked off. It took him a moment before he could continue. "James and I went out and fucked up every Death Eater we could find, and we got ourselves hurt in the process."

Hermione stayed silent. She was painfully aware of the locket, warm against her chest. She already knew she was going to get hurt. She didn't care.

"And then after that Halloween, after I went to Azkaban— Merlin, I don't know. Hermione, what I'm trying to say is that I get what you're going through, okay? I know you want to hurt her more than anything."

"You can't stop me," Hermione said, the words coming out before she even knew what she was saying.

"I'm not trying to stop you," Sirius said. "Fuck, Hermione, let me help you. I know you're doing something with Snivellus, and I want to help. Whatever it is."

Hermione shook her head. "You don't understand, it's—"

"Dangerous? Stupid?" Sirius shook his head wryly. "I guarantee it's nothing worse than I've done before."

"Dark," Hermione finished quietly.

Sirius leaned back in his chair, shoulders slumping. "Fuck," he said. "Fuck, Hermione, that's…"

Hermione carefully ignored the hot prickles of shame she felt. "What else am I supposed to do?" she said. "Lestrange is so much stronger than me in every way. This is the only way I can even possibly begin to challenge her."

"She knows way more about dark magic than you, no matter how much studying you've been doing," Sirius said, but he didn't sound accusatory.

"I know," Hermione said, a new determination filling her. "But she won't expect me to know any. She'll underestimate me, and maybe I'll— maybe I'll have a chance. I just need more power."

"Are you sure about this?" Sirius asked. "Once you go down this road, you can never come back."

Hermione knew this to be true in a way she hadn't only a week ago. She'd already made a deal with the devil, and she could feel the consequences of that decision in her very soul. "I'm sure," she said. "And anyway, it's already too late." She couldn't meet his eyes. Her eyes were burning.

Sirius reached out and grabbed her hand. "Okay," he said simply. "Okay, that's fine."

Hermione looked up at him in surprise. "Do you mean it?" she asked, realising suddenly how vulnerable she was in this moment. How much she wanted Sirius to be on her side, despite what she'd done.

"Yeah, I do," he told her. "Now we just need to make sure your sacrifice was worth it."

* * *

Down the hallway, Severus leaned against the wall, head in his hands as he listened to their conversation. Anger coursed through him at the thought of Black offering Granger comfort that he could not. He closed his eyes and pictured slamming Black's face repeatedly into the wall, a trick he used to calm himself when his emotions got the better of him. It was less effective this time than it usually was. He couldn't get rid the image of Granger storming out of his room, magic practically flying off of her.

He took a breath and went through the process of clearing his mind. Carefully, breath by breath, he calmed himself to the point where he could actually think again.

"Master Snape is spying," came a reedy, unwelcome voice.

Severus' eyes flew open, and he stared at the house elf in front of him. "Do you have a problem with that?" he challenged the house elf.

"Kreacher is not caring," said the house elf in a sly tone. "But perhaps filthy master is."

Severus paused. "I know you hate Black more than you hate me," he said to the elf. "Just as I know your bindings prevent you from taking any… overt actions against him. Perhaps we could come to an arrangement of sorts."

Kreacher licked his lips. "Kreacher thinks is possible," he said. Severus could see the hunger in his eyes.

Severus had an unfortunately long history with Kreacher the house elf. He'd visited Regulus during the summers when they'd been at Hogwarts, and the elf had taken an instant dislike to him. Regulus said the elf was like that with everyone, but personally Severus thought the house elf had been… jealous, of all things. Jealous of his relationship with Regulus.

A noise came from the kitchen. Chairs being pushed back. "We will discuss this more," Severus promised the elf, and stalked off in the direction of the library. He would continue his research, his primary reason for being in this house. If he could rid himself of the curse, he could leave Granger to her efforts without any remorse, and rid himself of the pain of watching her self destruct.

And yet, even the thought of leaving her to herself gave him a headache, stress creating painful tension at his temples. The thought of Black comforting her-

"Oh," came a soft noise of surprise.

Severus turned around to see Granger hovering nervously at the entrance to the library. Black wasn't with her.

"I thought you were still in your room," she said, embarrassment keeping her gaze low.

Severus considered her. The thought of Black- "Come here," he said harshly, and retreated behind a shelf, where they wouldn't be seen from the door.

She followed obediently, but he could see her hesitation. She leaned against one of the shelves that had been emptied over the summer, crossing her arms defensively. She still wouldn't meet his eyes.

"You told Black," Severus said.

She nodded, still staring somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. Was it shame that kept her gaze low? Or anger?

"He can't help you," Severus told her. "He has some knowledge of the dark arts merely through his upbringing, that is true, but he is missing much of the subtleties, of the context required to navigate safely. If you follow his lead, you will die." Was his voice as steady as he hoped? Did she know the thought of her death gave him nightmares?

"What else-" she started angrily, finally looking at his face. Her eyes were bright, but she looked… tired.

"I will help you," he cut her off. "Black already knows, and if you don't allow him to assist you he'll run straight to Albus. But you must run everything he tells you by me before you attempt anything. Do you understand?"

"And you won't tell Professor Dumbledore?" she asked suspiciously.

He desperately wanted her to trust him. He told himself that he merely needed her trust in order to best help her, but truthfully, that moment after he'd rescued her (and admittedly, after she'd rescued him as well), when she'd grabbed his hand without hesitation, when she'd looked up and him and given him her full attention… He wanted everything she was willing to give him, anything he could get from her. "I won't," he promised. "I won't tell anyone you do not wish."

Granger nodded, a steely determination in her eyes now. "Good," she said. "But there's more."

"More?" Severus asked without thinking, and he knew anxiety was clear in his voice.

"I need you to be okay working with Sirius."

Severus felt his anger rising. "As I said, Black knows nothing that can help you. He will lead you to your death." Was his voice steady? Had he betrayed how much he feared for her? Perhaps she already knew.

Granger shook her head. "It's not that. I need something from him, I need-" she cut herself off with a wince. Even from here he could sense the spike of dark magic.

"Need what?" Severus asked, baffled by this. Then a dawning horror came over him and he pretended not to see the way she stroked the locket around her neck. Was the locket… sentient? Could it be controlling her? What had he done, helping her do that ritual?

"There's an artefact, and only Sirius has access to it," Granger said, obviously picking her words carefully. "So I need his help getting it. And I need your help with the dark arts stuff… Please. You don't even have to talk to him."

Severus' thoughts were racing. If the locket was directing her, it seemed that it was the sudden reason for her interest in this artefact. And unfortunately, that meant he likely wouldn't be able to convince her she didn't need it. Just how much influence did the locket have over her? Had she been lost completely?

He nodded slowly, and risked a quick glimpse through her eyes and into her mind. Her thoughts seemed genuine, and he didn't detect anything foreign, except- there. When she thought of the locket, there was some sort of mental link between them. It didn't seem she was aware of it. He hastily retreated. "I will still help you," he told her, noting her genuine relief. "I can see that it is foolish to expect you to forget this path altogether, so I will do what I can to help you along the way." And if that help required him forcefully removing the locket from her, then that's what he would do.

"Okay," Granger said. "Okay. Let's talk."

* * *

"Have you ever experienced something so tragic, so profound, that it becomes the defining core of who you are?" Granger asked, in a soft whisper. She was sitting on his bed again, an obscene sight. He couldn't stop looking at her.

Severus didn't answer, his mind immediately conjuring up faces he'd tried so hard to forget.

"That's what it feels like," she continued. "Every moment I experience is coloured by the pain of loss. I look ahead to the rest of my life, and everything I'd once dreamed of is gone. Who cares about the Ministry, or about house-elves? Why bother when life itself is meaningless? We exist in a world that doesn't care about us. And why should it? We are tiny, stupid, little things. We play at political games like children on a playground. There is an entire universe around us, and we are one minuscule insignificant speck. The universe doesn't even know we're here. We're all mad creatures, screaming into the void."

There was silence. Granger stared at him, wild eyes and clenched fists. Did she know how beautiful she looked? And how fucking young?

"That's a rather depressing viewpoint," Severus managed, although he found that at his core, he understood what she was saying. "But if all this is truly as inconsequential as you say, why seek vengeance? Why not simply… disappear?"

Granger stared at him, mouth agape. "You mean kill myself?" she asked. That's not what he meant, but it didn't surprise him that she went there. He'd thought of it as well, after. Almost constantly.

"Not necessarily. Why bother? Why not simply live out your life in quiet solitude?"

Granger clutched at her chest. "It hurts," she said, in an instant her voice gone from a woman's to a girl's. "Please. I can't bear it. I can't-" She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her head in them. She made no sounds, but her shoulders trembled.

Severus weighed his options and considered killing himself. The problem was not that he didn't want to comfort her. The problem was that he wanted to go over to her and hold her so badly that he no longer trusted his judgement. How was he to determine the proper course of action when there was one he desired to the point of self delusion?

We are one minuscule insignificant speck, her words of a moment ago rung in his ear. To her, they held a depth and meaning that was incomprehensible to anyone over the age of seventeen. To him, they were a reminder of the uncaring and unfair nature of the universe around them. Fuck it, who cared about impropriety? The girl was likely to get them both killed in her mad quest for revenge anyway. Why not offer her what comfort he could in the meantime?

He still felt like a lech as he moved to sit next to her on the bed, and carefully put his arm around her. He pulled her tight to him to stop her from shaking.

"The pain of loss never leaves us," he told her, his mind flashing through memories. His mother. Regulus. Lily. The people he'd killed under service of the Dark Lord. The people he'd killed under service of Albus. The student who'd been entrusted to his care, whom he'd failed when he missed the signs of drug abuse. "You will feel it always, and yes, it will define you. But it will not be the only thing that will define you. Your actions will define you. How you choose to live your life in response to this tragedy will define you. Future loss will define you as well, and believe me, there will be more loss. But you feel their loss so deeply because of the impact they had on your life, and that can never be taken from you. Do you understand? You will always have their memory, and the rest of your life is free to be lived however you wish. This choice that you make, that is what will define you. As will the rest of the choices you make, for the rest of your life."

At first he didn't think his words got through to her, but slowly, hesitantly, she unfolded herself. He was still holding her, but she didn't push him off.

"Okay," she said, and her voice was sad but strong and really, what choice did she have? "Let's talk to Sirius. I need to get in Lestrange's vault."

* * *

"Hermione, this is a crazy plan," Sirius said, but Hermione thought that he sounded more admiring than critical.

"For once, Black and I are in agreement," Professor Snape added, and Sirius gaped at him.

Hermione sighed. "I know, it's ridiculous, but we can't exactly walk into the vault disguised as Lestrange, can we? The goblins probably see that all the time. So we have to do this within their laws."

"Black is a wanted criminal," Professor Snape pointed out. Sirius seemed proud of this, once more causing Hermione to think that maybe Professor Snape was right about leaving Sirius out of it. He hadn't taken anything today very… well, seriously.

"We'd have a bit of time before the Aurors showed up. More if the plan actually works."

"All you need to do is talk to the goblins and dissolve Lestrange's marriage. That shouldn't take long, should it? And then since the artefact is in her personal vault, as the head of the family, you should be able to access it."

"Wait, why would I have access again?" Sirius asked, looking up from the Daily Prophet's daily word jumble.

"Since your burnt-out husk of a brain seems incapable of absorbing even the smallest amount of information, let me explain it again," Professor Snape said through gritted teeth. "Once Bellatrix is no longer married, you become her Head of House. Since she is a criminal, you have the right to reclaim her vault. Once you reclaim it, it becomes yours and you have full rights to it, even though you are not able to visit it as you are also a criminal. Then you can grant access to Miss Granger and me, and we will be able to visit it and retrieve the artefact."

"Why can I do all that if I'm a criminal too?" Sirius asked, looking suspiciously at Professor Snape.

Professor Snape's hands twitched as if he were restraining himself from reaching across the table and strangling Sirius. "Since you were never found guilty at trial, you are still technically the Head of the family, with all the powers that implies."

"But I can't visit my vault," Sirius said skeptically.

"Because you are a fugitive," Professor Snape answered through gritted teeth.

"Even though I never received a trial," Sirius said.

"The Ministry can declare anyone a fugitive regardless of whether or not they have received a trial. The Dark Lord, for example, has fugitive status even though he has never been caught, and thus never received a trial."

Hermione thought Professor Snape was holding himself together very well, especially considering the way his black eyes glittered dangerously and he looked as if he were trying to wandlessly set Sirius on fire.

"Makes perfect sense to me," Sirius said, as if Professor Snape were the one not understanding. Hermione quickly reached out to grab Professor Snape's sleeve to stop him from drawing his wand. "So I just need to get the goblins to listen to me."

Hermione ignored the way Professor Snape was looking at her, like he was in physical pain, and Sirius' sudden sharp interest. "They have a treaty with the Ministry," She explained, reaching over to flip through one of the books in front of her by habit. She didn't think Sirius actually cared enough to see the reference, but she felt strangely on edge. "So they're required to report all sightings to the Ministry. But there's no requirements as to when they report. And they don't have to give any details about what you were doing."

"So they won't report me then," Sirius said happily.

"Well, it's not quite that simple," Hermione hedged, glancing over at Professor Snape. "There is a bounty on your head, and if they catch you and turn you in, they'll make that money. You probably still wouldn't get a trial, since there's a Kiss on Sight order, which means that your assets wouldn't be frozen and Gringotts would still profit from your accounts with them. So there's really no reason for them not to turn you in, unless…"

"Unless I give them one," Sirius finished for her. "Right. I always hated those greedy bastards."

"Don't be foolish, Black. Their greed makes them worthy allies, for we know exactly what their motivations are and how to work with them," Professor Snape said snidely. Considering the rant he'd gone on earlier about goblins, Hermione suspected he was merely taking this stance to antagonise Sirius.

It was working. "Oh, you would think that, wouldn't you, Sni-"

"Sirius!" Hermione interrupted, before wands were drawn. "Would you stop? I really, really need you to be able to work together," she said. "Remember, you hate Bellatrix more, right?"

Sirius looked over at Professor Snape consideringly, so Hermione reached across the table and punched him in the arm. "Ow, Hermione," Sirius whined. "Fine, yes, I hate Bellatrix more."

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well, she's family," Sirius explained with suspicious cheer. "No offence, but family always comes first. That's practically the Black motto."

"Always pure?" Professor Snape asked.

"Pfft. Everyone knows that's a lie. My Great-Aunt Cassie is half-veela. We think that's where Cissy's hair comes from. And of course, everyone knows about Great-Great-Great-Uncle Vilfred's affair with his house-elf. That's why my family started cutting off their heads instead of giving them clothes. They're part of the family, see?"

Hermione stared at him in horror. Professor Snape abruptly stood up and walked out of the room.

"It's true!" Sirius called after him. "Technically Kreacher is my cousin!" He turned to Hermione. "Okay, it's only sort of true. My family was cutting off their heads long before the elves made it into the family officially."

"Oh my god, Sirius, that's horrifying," Hermione said. "That's…"

"Apparently it was consensual, does that help?" Sirius said with a wicked smirk. "They had probably the healthiest relationship anyone in my family has ever had."

Hermione felt like she was going to be sick. "But they're… so small…" she said weakly.

Sirius completely missed her point. "Well, I think the house-elf curse won out over any genetics. That's why they don't look more human."

"Hang on, curse?" Hermione asked in surprise, gratefully latching on a change in subject.

"Sure, the curse that turned them into house-elves."

"What were they before?" she asked curiously. She'd done research on house-elves before, of course, but she'd never been able to find anything of their origins.

"Regular elves, I think?" Sirius suggested, with a frown. "I don't actually know much about it.

"Where did you learn this, then?" Hermione pressed.

Sirius shrugged. "Around, or wherever. You pick things up from rumours on the street. I wouldn't put much stock into it, I've also heard that Dumbledore was gay for Grindelwald. I mean, people say all kinds of things."

"Oh, that's… interesting…" Hermione said politely, trying not to think of her old professor in any sort of romantic relationship. "But anyway, do you have anything you think you can bribe them with?"

"The house-elves?" Sirius asked doubtfully. "Maybe I could drop trou…"

"No!" Hermione said quickly. "No, obviously I was talking about the goblins!"

Sirius smiled at her winningly. "Why didn't you just say so, Hermione? I have a couple of family heirlooms that are supposedly goblin-made. Although… once we have Bella's vault, we'll have all sorts of treasures we can bargain with."

"You know what's in there?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"Not exactly, but I'm sure she's got some great stuff. And worst comes to worst, I'll just keep offering them gold until they cave. It's not like I'll get a chance to use it again."

"Unless your name is cleared," Hermione pointed out. "Then you'd need it."

Sirius snorted. "Hermione, really, don't worry about it. Between my family's ridiculous piles of gold, and whatever Bella has, I'll be set for life even after a hefty bribe."

"Alright, if you're sure," Hermione said uncertainly. "If you're wrong about this, they'll probably turn you in immediately."

Sirius' eyes glittered with excitement. "I think that's a risk I'm willing to take," he said, leaning back in his chair.

Hermione didn't think he was taking this very seriously. He acted like it was all a lark, but did he realise he could actually die? He had the riskiest part of this plan, by far. But then again, did she really care? If he wanted to risk his life, it didn't matter to her, as long as he succeeded. And if he failed, she'd kill him her— No, of course she wouldn't. Hermione liked Sirius. And she loved Harry, and Harry loved Sirius, and Hermione would do everything she could to stop Harry from experiencing—

"-rmione?" Sirius' voice was concerned.

"Yes, I'm listening," Hermione responded automatically, still feeling a little disoriented.

"I said your name multiple times, are you alright?"

"Oh, yes, I'm fine," Hermione said, not meeting his eyes. "We'll go later this afternoon, okay? In and out, quick as we can."

"Sure, yeah," Sirius said. "If you're up for it." His excitement had dampened with his worry, but now it was starting to come back again.

"Yeah, of course," Hermione said automatically.

Sirius grinned at her. "Perfect."

* * *

Hermione hadn't been present for Sirius' portion of the plan, but she could only assume it was completely successful because a goblin had seen her and Professor Snape down to Lestrange's vault and let them in without a word.

"Which item are you after?" the goblin finally spoke, as they stared around the room in wonder. There was heaps of gold, of course, but also a surprising amount of jewellery and books.

This had all been Lestrange's, Hermione thought in a daze. And now it wasn't. She'd taken away all of her wealth, all of her prized family heirlooms. She wanted to burn it all to the ground, incinerate it into— there.

"That cup," she said, pointing high on a shelf.

The goblin started over to it obligingly.

"Wait!" Hermione called after him. The room reeked of dark magic. "It's all cursed," she said. "Give me a second."

She ignored Professor Snape's surprised stare as she waved her wand across the room. The motions felt familiar to her, even though she'd never performed them before. The words flowed easily from her tongue, even though she'd never said them. She felt the dark power inside of her rise up at her command, almost too easily. Like it knew what she wanted without her having to tell it.

"It's clean now," Hermione said, lowering her wand.

"Miss Granger…" Professor Snape said, and for the first time Hermione thought he looked— scared? Not of her, surely?

"I thank you," the goblin said, the first polite words he'd said to her all evening. "You've saved us some work." He shouted some commands at the goblins waiting outside, and they strode into the room and started carrying things out.

"All of it?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"The vault's contents, minus that one item. Mister Black was very persuasive," the goblin said, baring his teeth. "We came to a mutually beneficial arrangement."

That was an awfully steep price. Hermione wondered at what else Sirius had gotten from the deal. How dare he use her plan for his own personal gain? Only… what did she care? Why shouldn't he get something out of it too?

"It's time to leave," Professor Snape hissed at her.

She was holding the cup. When had she gotten it? It felt warm and right in her hands, as if it'd been made especially for her. "Yes," she said, and followed him out of the vault. She stashed the cup in her cloak, and obligingly followed Professor Snape into the cart.

They met up with Sirius in a small room that Gringotts allowed for Apparition, and with a gut-wrenching pop, they returned to the manor, Hermione obligingly holding Professor Snape's arm.

"Did you get it?" Sirius asked excitedly.

"Yes," Hermione said, touching the inside of her cloak again.

"It went so well!" Sirius exclaimed giddily. "I can't believe it worked! The goblins seemed thrilled to get ahold of Bella's stuff, she must have had some great things in there. They agreed to all my demands in less than ten rounds of negotiation."

Professor Snape nodded slowly. "Indeed, they must have been very eager if they capitulated so quickly," he said, but he didn't seem to think it was a good thing.

"I even got them to agree to a few other things too," Sirius said, pleased. "Which means I'll now have access to my money again. Although they're charging me twice the usual fee," he said, with a roll of his eyes.

"And you don't find it strange that they let you off so easily?" Professor Snape asked skeptically.

"Well… when you put it like that, yeah, I guess it's a little strange," Sirius looked pained to be agreeing with anything Professor Snape said. "But I didn't have anything in Bella's vault before, so now that I've lost it, it doesn't really matter to me, does it?"

Professor Snape snorted. "Of course you would say that," he murmured. "No regard whatsoever for the consequences of your actions."

"Hey, I helped Hermione, didn't I? That was the whole point of this thing," Sirius snapped back. "And what did you do again? Just stand around looking menacing? How did that help exactly?"

"I'm tired," Hermione said, grabbing Professor Snape's arm just as he reached for his wand. "I'm going to get some sleep."

"It's four in the afternoon," Professor Snape said in surprise, distracted from his rage.

"That spell wiped me out," Hermione said, half telling the truth. "I'll take a nap and be down for dinner later."

"I'll send Kreacher out for something," Sirius said happily. "Now that I have money again."

"Black, you imbecile, you're in hiding and you're sending—"

Hermione retreated up the stairs, away from the fighting. She let herself into her room, still decorated with all the silly things she'd put up over the summer, and sat down on her bed. Gingerly, she pulled the cup from her cloak.

"Hello," she whispered to it, cradling it in her hands. "What do I do with you?" She waited a moment, as if the cup would answer her, then felt foolish. "Of course, the ritual," she murmured. But she didn't have the strength to do the ritual again right now. She set the cup down beside her pillow and stood, stretching, and removed her cloak.

She froze when she caught sight of a now-familiar face in the mirror.

Tall and handsome, black hair curled slightly around his face. Steely blue eyes staring straight at her, a slight smirk on his lips.

"You can't hurt me," Hermione said boldly, at the man in the mirror. "You're just in my head."

"But Hermione," the man said back, and Hermione dropped her cloak in surprise. "You of all people should know: in your head is where I can do the most damage of all."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I've been updating this on AO3 but neglected to do so here as well. I've also lightly edited the first four chapters.

* * *

"Hermione, dear Hermione, with hair so soft, and eyes so shiny. How you've crept over me, a plant so viney, my Hermione, dear Hermi-"

"Please stop," Hermione whimpered, pillow held desperately over her ears. It didn't help. "Please, let me sleep."

The man in the mirror, who was somehow also more than that, stopped singing. "You don't like my rhymes?" he asked, in a mock wounded tone. "But my dear, how else will I express my-"

"Shut up!" Hermione cried, pulling the pillow tighter around her head. She could still hear him perfectly.

"Perhaps I should recite poetry, instead of song? Would that better flatter my love, my darling, my one and only?"

Hermione hadn't slept in days. Ever since the apparition had started speaking, he hadn't stopped. She'd been hiding in her room, terrified to leave and have someone catch her responding to something that hadn't been said. She'd begged off all appearances, shouting through the door that she was fine and just needed sleep.

The cup she kept under her pillow while she tried desperately to sleep, to read, to do anything with the endless noise around her. Its presence comforted her, even though she'd been too fatigued to do the ritual.

"Okay, I can't do this anymore," Hermione said, to the man's delight. She threw the pillow away from her head and pulled on the first clothes she could find. It was both too warm and too cold in this room, and while she'd had all the water she could drink — the easiest thing to conjure — she'd slowly been starving. She didn't care if everyone thought she was crazy. She'd already gone crazy, trapped in here with the endless noise, the songs, the jokes, the riddles, the fairy tales she'd heard over and over and over and over and over and-

Hermione opened the door, to something like great satisfaction. This was it. She was casting off the tight confinement, letting her soul be free-

"Where are we going?" the mirror man asked in delight. "On a little trip, are we? Perhaps we'll see someone else while we're out of your room, and wouldn't that be delightful?"

Hermione ignored him, and carefully made her way to the kitchen. She was unsteady on her feet, uncertain of her movements. The walls seemed to move around her, wallpaper shifting the second she looked too closely at it. She could feel the earth trembling under her feet, pulsing in time with the beat of her own heart.

"Hmm, I believe I recognise this house," the mirror man said, in delighted surprise. "How fascinating, little muggleborn, inside the most Noble and Ancient House of Black. Of course, if it were any muggleborn, it would certainly be you. Such a darling little thing, aren't you? Brave and clever, so quick to do anything for power. Reminds me of someone I knew in my youth, knowledge greater than your common sense. Playing with things that should not be touched."

Hermione sat down at the kitchen table, across from Professor Snape who was watching her with blank surprise.

"Tea?" he offered automatically, already pouring her a cup.

Hermione nodded.

"This one's quite dour, isn't he? I like the look of him, I must say. He's the one who's been helping you, then? The professor who's been cursed to love you? Good thing, too, otherwise who would? All the cleverness in the world isn't enough to get people to love you, alas. Perhaps magic is the only way to do it after all."

"What?" Hermione choked out, realising she'd missed something Professor Snape had said.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked again, inspecting her very closely now.

"Yes," Hermione said, but she couldn't stop herself from shaking her head minutely, and she knew he'd noticed. She stared resolutely at the table.

"Do you think your parents loved you, when they died? Before, of course they must have. Don't all parents love their children?" Was that bitterness in the mirror man's voice? "But do you think they still loved you, at the end? When they were tortured because of you? When they were thrust so violently into the world you'd tried to protect them from? When they had to uproot their home and leave their lives behind? When you ruined their only chance for a new life, leading a mad woman straight to their door? Do you think they still loved you, after all that?"

"Miss Granger?" Professor Snape said in alarm.

Hermione blinked furiously, trying to keep the tears at bay. Finally she lifted her gaze and met the professor's eyes. Help me, she was desperate to say, but the words wouldn't come. Help me.

Professor Snape abruptly fell out of his chair, and then hastily pulled himself back up. He wasn't meeting her eyes anymore, but his face had gone pale, his expression completely blank.

"Oh dear, you think he'll be able to help you?" the mirror man asked curiously. "You admire him greatly, I can tell, but do you think his skills will be enough to make up for your vast ignorance on this subject? You've studied so many things, yet never thought to try your hand at mind magics? An odd oversight, from a girl as smart as you."

"Miss Granger," Professor Snape started, and then fell helplessly silent. After a moment he seemed to have collected his thoughts, and tried again. "Miss Granger, you are the owner of your own mind. You have the final power there, no one else. You must remember this. Do you understand?"

"Yes, but-" Hermione said desperately.

"Come on, Hermione!" the mirror man said encouragingly. "I know you can do this! You're such a smart girl, Hermione, so bright with such a future ahead of you! Or, well, you had one, at least, until you handed me your soul. But we'll forge a new future for you, together. You'll be stronger than you ever dreamed, Hermione. Prove yourself to me. Prove that you can do this." His tone offered a challenge to her, which Hermione, despite everything, was desperate to meet. She did want to prove herself to him, and she hated herself for it.

"Clear your mind, Granger," Professor Snape said softly. He pushed the cup of tea towards her, as if it would help.

She took a sip anyway, as she tried to clear her mind. It was impossible, with the noise around her, the endless stream of encouragement from the mirror man. His endless kind words, praising her abilities, her fortitude, her intelligence-

"Hermione," Professor Snape said, and she looked up at him in surprise. Their eyes met again, and this time she held his gaze, staring into what she felt must be his very soul. For a brief moment, the noise faded.

"That's it, you've got it," Professor Snape said quietly, but she could hear him perfectly despite the endless chatter from the mirror man. "Again."

The second of silence was motivator enough for Hermione. She did a peculiar thing, both pushing mentally as well as calming it, quieting her thoughts. She'd always had enormous self-discipline, but she'd never thought to put it to this purpose before. She felt her mind go quiet as the mirror man disappeared, although the walls were still moving strangely around her. That would be the sleep deprivation then. That was real.

I'm proud of you, came a lingering whisper in her head, before that too was quiet.

She sat in silence for a long moment, sipping her tea.

"When's the last time you slept?" Professor Snape finally asked her.

"I don't know," she replied softly.

Professor Snape nodded, unsurprised. "You should sleep immediately."

"If I'm sleeping, how will I-" She wasn't sure what the call it.

"Occlude," Professor Snape filled in. "A very difficult skill to learn under normal circumstances. I would have thought these circumstances would make it even more difficult, but I suppose the mind is capable of amazing feats in the name of self-preservation."

She wasn't sure, but was that a compliment? "Thank you," she said uncertainly.

"You need to sleep," Professor Snape said. Given that Hermione could see colours floating in her tea cup, she supposed he must be right. "I'll bring you back to your-"

"No!" Hermione cried suddenly, then took a moment to regain her balance. As if she were on the edge of a cliff, teetering above the sea. Down below she could see waves crashing into rocks, but up here she was safe as long as she didn't go careening over the edge, which she would at the slightest push, and where were her parents to keep her from going too close to the edge? Their towel, spread over the sand, was empty, picnic basket knocked over and sandwiches strewn about everywhere.

"No?" Professor Snape asked, eyebrow raised.

"I can't go back to my room," Hermione said quietly, although she couldn't think why. She desperately missed the comfort the cup had brought her. And she'd left it all alone up there where anyone might take it. She felt the pressing urge to go check on it, make sure it was still safe.

"Miss Granger, follow me," Professor Snape repeated. He was frowning at her. Had she done something wrong? Was he going to give her detention?

"Sn- Snape?" That would be Sirius then, dark hair curled around his face, still too thin from his time in prison. His pouty lips were pursed in disapproval as he took in- what, exactly? Hermione realised that Professor Snape had his hand gently on her shoulder as he led her down the hallway.

"Spare me," Professor Snape said, sounding tired. "Can't you see she's exhausted? She hasn't slept in three days."

"Hermione, are you okay?" Sirius asked urgently, peering in closer to look at her. Their faces were only a foot apart now, and Hermione thought it would be easy to close the gap. She could see the crinkles of concern around his eyes, the stubble on his chin that looked like he'd missed a shave this morning.

"You have pretty eyes," Hermione told him, and they were. Grey and mysterious, like the sky during a storm. Or the ocean during a storm. Or a lake? There was definitely some sort of storm, though. Hermione felt Professor Snape's hand tighten on her shoulder.

"Okay, what?" Sirius said, disturbed.

"I thought, perhaps, the library?" Professor Snape said lightly.

"Yeah, sure," Sirius said, looking deeply concerned.

Sirius followed them into the library, where there was a deep sofa. Not terribly comfortable, but it was horizontal, and that was really all Hermione needed to fall immediately asleep.

Severus stared at the girl passed out on the sofa. He'd never seen anyone fall asleep so immediately. Black grabbed his arm and dragged him into the hallway.

"What the fuck, Snape," he said, more scared than angry. "What the hell was in that vault?"

"She wouldn't tell me," Severus said angrily, ripping his arm out of Black's hold. "Obviously a powerful dark object, but what precisely- Where are you going?" He hissed. Black had turned and started towards the stairs. Severus followed him with great reluctance.

"I'm going to see what the fuck it is, obviously," Black snarled. "She's just a fucking kid, what the hell is she caught up in?"

"How much has she told you?" Severus asked carefully, trying to ignore the child comment. Of course she was just a child. Gods above, he was tired of the constant feeling of shame.

"She wants revenge," Black said, side-eyeing him. "And she's using dark magic."

Black stopped suddenly, and Severus had to jerk himself away to avoid touching him. How did Black know where her room was? Severus felt himself go cold at the familiar way Black opened the door and stepped inside.

"Oh Merlin," Black said. The room was tidy and clean, the only messy part of it being the bed, but that wasn't the notable part.

The room reeked of dark magic. Not just a scent, but a physical feeling, like someone was standing directly behind you.

The hairs on the back of Severus' neck prickled, and he felt that he was staring down a fork in the road. Leave now, leave the house, return to Hogwarts and potentially live out the rest of his life (however long that was). Or enter further, and be damned.

But hadn't he already been damned? Over and over, seemingly by every choice he made.

And besides, Black had already gone in, and that was simply unacceptable.

"Can you tell where it's coming from?" Black asked in a hushed voice. "I don't see that cup anywhere."

"I believe…" Severus stepped haltingly over to the bed, and then slowly, touching it as little as possible, pulled one of the pillows off the bed. It fell to the floor, ignored, as the two men stared at the cup.

"She's been sleeping with it?" Black asked in a hollow voice. "In her bed."

Severus stared at the thing. Clearly she'd been using it (for whatever purpose it had). It was radiating dark magic like crazy, significantly more than it had been when they found it.

"Should we destroy it?" Black asked, looking to Severus for guidance.

Severus normally would have gloated, pressing the advantage to insult him as much as possible. But he was distracted, confused by a strange tickling in his head. He took a moment to calm his thoughts and refocus on his Occlumency. The tickling went away. Not even the Dark Lord himself could penetrate his shields.

"Snape?" Black said urgently. "Oh shit, what the fuck." He was starting to panic.

"I am fine," Severus forced out, his tongue strangely heavy in his mouth. It felt like trying to talk through a mouthful of rags.

"Fuck this," Black said, and took out his wand.

For the first time in his life, Severus willingly touched Sirius Black. He grabbed his arm, spun him around, and pulled him out of the room as quickly as possible. He closed the door and started casting every ward he could think of.

Black waited with an uncharacteristic patience until he was finished. "What the hell?" Black said, but his voice was low. "Why'd you pull me away?"

"I did not want to be responsible for your corpse," Severus said, but his head still felt sticky.

"So you know what that is?" Black said triumphantly.

"Not as such," Severus admitted. His wound was twinging painfully in his side, still healing. The dark magic in the room had reawakened the pain. He kept himself standing through sheer force of will. He had quite a lot of that. "But I believe it is-" he hesitated for a moment. "I believe it is personal to the Dark Lord."

Black considered this, then looked back at Hermione's door. "So we're burning the house down."

"I do not know if that would destroy it," Severus admitted.

"You don't know?" And there was Black's famous temper, starting to shine through. "Aren't you the so-called expert, the one who spends all his free time bowing and kneeling in front of him? You don't know? After all the time you spent sucking his-"

Severus sat heavily on the floor, stopping Black's vitriol in its tracks. "It may be too late," he said hoarsely.

"What do you mean, too late? Snape?" Black crouched down next to him, face pale. "You mean too late to save her?"

"I mean too late to save any of us," Severus responded in a whisper.

* * *

Hermione was gone when they returned to the library.

"Maybe she went to get tea," Sirius offered weakly. So what if Hermione was gone? She was strong. She'd fight off… whatever it was. Right?

Snape looked back at him with dead eyes. "I need to do some research. I have a theory I would like to check."

"What is it?" Sirius asked. He noted with sick dread the way Snape's eyes flickered to the door before answering.

"A theory best left unsaid until it absolutely necessary," Snape said meaningfully.

Sirius wasn't sure he understood entirely, but he thought he got the gist. They couldn't trust Hermione. Hermione, who was the only reason they were in this fucking mess to begin with. Hermione who'd asked for help, and hadn't he known that meddling in dark magic was a mistake? But he hated his cousin with a burning rage, and she'd been so sad…

"You won't find what you're looking for in the regular shelves," Sirius said. He didn't feel the least bit guilty about giving away family secrets to Snape. No matter how much he hated Snape, he'd always hate his family more. They were just special like that. "There's a secret library with the darkest stuff. You need to be a Black to access it."

Snape raised an eyebrow at him. Classic Snape. Couldn't even be bothered to ask for help like a normal person.

"Just follow me," Sirius said, scowling. He led the greasy fucker to the back of the library, a small alcove with a portrait of some long forgotten ancestor. Even the magic had worn off, leaving just a still portrait. Or maybe it had never been magic to begin with, painted long before they knew how to infuse life into canvas.

"It's just here," Sirius muttered. He cut himself with his wand and smeared the blood haphazardly around the wall. He couldn't remember exactly where the secret spot was, so he just spread blood around until he heard a click. Judging by Snivvy's look of disgust, he knew exactly what Sirius was doing. Even with just his eyes he could express clear disbelief at Sirius' level of incompetence.

But Snape's expression was replaced with surprise when he saw the large room, brimming with shelves. It was lit only enough to illuminate the shadows, and a thick layer of dust covered every surface.

And yet, there was noise. It took a moment for the ear to discern the individual sounds, to isolate single parts of the quiet cacophony. The ear adjusted the same moment the eye did, and suddenly the shelves were undulating, and the air was filled with the sound of thousands of books rustling on their shelves.

"You never wanted to be rid of this?" Snape asked, voice quiet below a whisper even.

"I should've," Sirius said miserably. "But it seemed like such a big job, and there wasn't any risk of the kids getting in here."

"Fascinating," Snape said, but Sirius thought he was probably talking about the books.

"You'll be able to get out no problem," Sirius informed him. "So I'll just go check on Hermione then."

Snape gave an absent nod. Sirius honestly didn't care that much if he'd heard. Part of him wanted Snape to get trapped in the library forever. But the other part of him, a much bigger part of him, thought about being left alone with that thing upstairs and went cold…

What had Hermione done?

* * *

Hermione, at the moment, was getting some tea. "A good cup of tea will make me feel better," she muttered to herself, trying not to flinch at every strange sound the settling house made. She felt like she'd been asleep for ages, then had been woken up suddenly by something she couldn't put to name. Professor Snape and Sirius had been gone when she'd woken, and they hadn't been in the kitchen either. She felt singularly alone, a strange feeling for someone who'd always secretly preferred solitude.

They've left you, said a little voice in her head.

"Shut up," she told herself sternly. "Drink your tea."

She eyed it dubiously. How old were the leaves? Preservation charms only lasted so long…

"Drink it, you'll feel better," she insisted.

Still, she hesitated. It smelled okay, although she'd brewed it extra strong. She needed the caffeine, yes? After being asleep for so long? She still felt so tired.

"Drink it," she said to herself. She took a cautious sip. The tea burned her tongue, but the warmth flowing into her stomach felt wonderful.

She sighed, and settled into a chair at the table.

Kreacher poked his head out of one of the cupboards. "The mudblood feeds herself," he muttered to himself, as if this were an insult.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you offering to make me tea?" she asked lightly.

Kreacher gasped in horror. "Kreacher would never serve such filth!"

"I've never seen you serve anyone," Hermione commented mildly.

"Kreacher is surrounded by traitors! Blood traitors and thieves! What would Mistress say, what would Mistress say… no dark witches left for Kreacher to serve…"

"Oh, is that all you want? A dark witch?" Hermione said, a glint of mischief in her voice. She held out a hand and twitched her fingers.

The lights flickered. The kitchen door slammed shut. Kreacher was ripped out of his cupboard by a wave of dark magic and pulled into the air, dangling by a single ankle. He shrieked in surprise and immediately started trying to wriggle his way free, to no avail.

"Is this what you wanted?" Hermione said, standing up and taking slow steps towards him. She reached out a finger and twirled it lazily through the air.

The stillness of the kitchen was replaced by a furious wind, whipping through Hermione's hair and buffeting around Kreacher. Nothing else in the kitchen was affected, just the two of them. Kreacher reached desperately for his throat, gasping for air that was moving too quickly for him to breathe.

Hermione yawned. "Boring," she said, and the magic disappeared.

Kreacher fell to the ground in a heap, staring at Hermione with new eyes. "Powerful dark magic," he said in awe as she sat down again to drink her tea. "Could it be…?"

"I'm still a muggleborn," she reminded him in amusement. "I'm just rather better at it than everyone else. Now go clean something."

"Yes Mistress," Kreacher said, uncertainly. But he followed her order, disappearing from the room with a quiet pop.

Hermione's head ached. "A potion," she muttered to herself. "I need a potion."

She left her empty mug sitting on the table and headed back to her room, all previous misgivings gone.

The man in the mirror was waiting for her.

"It's so nice to see you again," he said, smiling gently at her. "I was worried about you being gone for so long." His gentle smile had too many teeth.

"I needed the rest. I'm refreshed now," Hermione promised. "I'm ready."

"Mmm, I'm not so sure," the man said, with a slow shake of his head. "I don't believe you're strong enough to handle the additional power the cup would bring you."

"I'm not?" Hermione said uncertainly. "What do I need to do?"

"There are exercises one can do, the magical equivalent of lifting weights. Perhaps I could show you." That was unexpectedly magnanimous of him. "For a small favour."

Hermione smiled. She was familiar with this game now. "What favour?"

"You are friends with Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "Bring him here."

"Harry? Why?" Hermione asked, baffled by the unexpected request. In the far back of her mind, alarm bells were going off. She ignored them with a tired desperation.

"He will not be harmed. I merely wish to meet him, to learn more about the power that allows him to defeat the Dark Lord."

"And in return you'll… show me some exercises?"

"I will train you," the mirror man promised. "I will not simply show you. I will mold you into the perfect dark witch, the perfect warrior. I will not simply give you power, I will teach you to use it. I will make you everything you wish to be." In the mirror, he held up his wand. A binding oath. It would keep both of them to their word, Hermione simply had to agree.

"Only after I've killed Bellatrix."

The man in the mirror nodded. "After you kill Bellatrix. You will bring the boy to me."

"It's a deal," Hermione said, and sealed her fate.

Dear reader, you might think to judge Hermione for her actions. You might think her foolish and selfish. You might despise her for what she's done, what she's yet to do.

You would be right.

Hermione has made many poor choices in her life, but none worse than the deal she made with Tom Riddle.

* * *

Severus could feel his Mark tingling.

It was such a departure from the usual pain that he almost didn't realise what was happening at first. Goosebumps were common in an old drafty house filled with dark magic.

This wasn't goosebumps. This was dark magic; this was the Dark Lord.

But how? He doubled checked with Albus. The Dark Lord was still out of the country. Did the Mark truly have such a wide range? And even more importantly, why would the Dark Lord do such a thing? What was the purpose of such a gentle tingling?

The door to the secret library room burst open.

"Fuck!" Severus swore, dropping the books he was holding. One on dark magic leakage, one on cursed objects, one on curses based on emotion… He had a lot on his plate.

Black looked at him in amusement. "Tense much?" the cretin remarked snidely.

"Given the nature of the house, I think it's reasonable to be surprised by sudden noises," Severus replied. "For all I knew it could be a ghoul." He squinted at Black. "For all I know, it still could be."

"Hardy har har, asshole," Black said. "Will you just fucking come with me? Hermione went back to that room and I have no fucking clue what to fucking do about it."

Severus rubbed a hand over his face. "We may already be doomed," he said matter-of-factly.

Wordlessly Black held up a packet of cigarettes.

"Fuck yes," Severus said, and followed him out back.

Sirius Black was an enigma, Severus decided, as they chain-smoked in quiet companionship, dropping the ashes on the ground of the decrepit garden. He was easily one of the worst people in the British Isles, of course. That went without saying. In fact, Severus was sick of saying it. No one listened to him anyway.

There was something about being prisoners together in a house dripping with darkness that took some of the edge off the hostility. Severus was so tired of spending every waking second fighting to keep his mind clear. He didn't have any energy left for fighting Black as well.

"I know you were friends with Regulus," Black finally said, ruining the peaceful moment because that's what he did, he ruined things.

"We were lovers," Severus said. He didn't give a shit anymore.

Black dropped his cigarette. "What the fuck? I thought- What the fuck?"

"Thought I spent all of Hogwarts hung up on Evans? She was never interested in me romantically. Why wouldn't I seek comfort in the arms of someone who was genuinely interested in me?"

"So you were just using him for sex!" Black accused, his face wearing a strange combination of horror and anger. "My baby brother!"

"I loved him," Severus said simply, looking out over the garden, littered with years of accumulated trash. He flicked some ashes onto a rotten bush that had once held berries, too small and sour to actually eat.

Black didn't know what to do with this. He angrily lit another cigarette and puffed on in furiously, practically destroying it before it could finish. "I hate this fucking place," Black muttered under his breath. "It gets under my skin and I hate it."

"The dark magic?" Severus asked, genuinely curious. Surviving growing up in this house and then years of Azkaban likely meant he was fairly impervious to the decaying touch of dark magic. If even he was feeling the strain…

"Maybe. I don't know. Just this whole place."

"Better than Azkaban," Severus said, too bone weary to feel any proper anger. He lit another cigarette.

"Is it?" Black said, with a dark expression. Sometimes he looked just like Regulus. Unsurprising. Pureblood siblings often looked almost identical. Add in the years, the stress… how similar would Regulus look now, if they lived? Was he looking at Regulus's stolen future?

"What the fuck are you looking at?" Black said, more nervous than angry. Perhaps he was too tired for anger as well.

"You look so much like him," Severus said, the words slipping out before he could catch them. Jesus Christ he was tired.

"Fuck off," Black said, inching away from him. "As if I'd ever touch you."

"I'd die before touching you," Severus said.

"Oh yeah? Well I'd fucking chop my balls off first."

"I'd sooner fuck Albus Dumbledore himself." Thankfully Severus's mind shied away before providing any mental images.

"Fucking disgusting," Black said, somewhat cheered. "I'd fuck a house-elf first."

"You're a Black," Severus sneered. "You'd fuck a house-elf anyway."

"You dare besmirch the most Ancient and Noble House of Black?" Black said with a smirk. "I'll have you know—" Black cut off at a sudden banging noise from deeper in the garden. "Merlin, what was that?"

"There, that trunk," Severus said, spying a broken trunk partially hidden in the overgrowth and litter.

"Probably a boggart then. I love these," Black said, shoving his cigarette behind his ear and running over to the trunk. He kicked it open and the form of James Potter tumbled out.

"Christ, what a fucking masochistic moron," Severus muttered as he watched the boggart James Potter shout vitriol and abuse at Black, who seemed to be soaking it all in. After a few minutes, Severus had had enough. He stomped through the undergrowth and shoved Black out of the way. "I'll handle it," he snarled, and whirled on the boggart, expecting to see—

But it wasn't.

Hermione Granger stood there, smiling softly at him. He thought he knew what she represented, and searched for signs of darkness, of the corruption that the real Granger faced.

There was none. It was simply Hermione Granger, as she was meant to be. Happy. Healthy. Whole.

His worst fear. Not of her being lost to the darkness, or of her dead and suffering, but simply her.

With a sickening feeling, Severus thought that if he looked into the (thankfully destroyed) Mirror of Erised, he would see exactly the same thing.

"Merlin's balls, you're fucked up," Black said, banishing the boggart with a wave of his wand.

"You're one to talk," Severus replied automatically, without any heat to his words.

Black was right. He was fucked up.

* * *

Severus was disturbed to see Granger come down for breakfast.

Black was there, making tea and toast in a sickening display of domesticity that Severus normally would have avoided if they didn't have genuine problems to discuss. Namely the problem that had just walked into the room.

"I'm ready," Granger said. She looked better rested than she had the previous day, but also… different. More self-assured.

"Ready for what?" Black asked, bewildered.

"I'm ready to take on Bellatrix Lestrange."

Black spit out his tea. "Sorry, what? Hermione, are you freaking kidding me? Yesterday you could barely stand you were so tired! And also you just— we just got the thing—" Black looked over at Severus with desperation. Had that been yesterday? Or last week?

The girl had used the cup then, to do whatever dark ritual was binding her soul. "We'll need time to strategise," Severus offered weakly, mind racing. On one hand, this was suicide for Granger. On the other hand the less time spent with those artefacts the better. Perhaps between the three of them, they could take down Bellatrix, and then work on purifying the girl. Perhaps a cleansing ritual would buy her some time. Perhaps destroying the physical artefacts could loosen their grip. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. All he had were wild ideas and speculation.

At least his fucking wound was almost healed.

Granger shook her head. "We've already devised a strategy. I already contacted her. It's happening. Noon."

"Noon?" Black spluttered. He glanced at his watch. "Hermione, that's in three hours!"

"What do you mean, 'we've devised?'" Severus asked.

Granger stared straight at him, eyes locked onto his face. "You already know," she said, smiling sadly. "I know it's not preferable, but this whole thing is almost over. And then we can go back to our normal lives, right?" She said it desperately, looking to him for confirmation.

"Yeah, we'll get everything fixed up," Black agreed, but he too was looking at Severus for confirmation.

Severus felt bile rise in the back of his throat. Why was it all on him? Why were they looking at him, when he didn't _know_ anything? "Maybe," he said hoarsely, and averted his eyes at her relieved look.

Noon. They were to return to Granger's parents' safe house. Granger said she knew Bellatrix would come, once she learned what Granger had done to her vaults. Granger was convinced that Bellatrix would come, and then confront Granger directly once she determined that no one else was around.

"She won't be expecting me to be able to fight back," Granger said. "After my poor showing last time."

"It wasn't your fault," Black said sadly, patting her shoulder. "I promise, Hermione."

Granger shrugged him off. "It's fine, I've accepted it," she said.

Black looked to Severus for help, who shook his head. Now was not the time. There'd be time later, once… once it was all resolved.

"Do you think she can handle it?" Black whispered to him, as they watched Granger doing her final preparations. She seemed to be testing out wand movements. "I know it hasn't been long, but fuck if she hasn't got power coming off her in waves. I've never seen anything like it."

"I have," Severus said hoarsely.

The Dark Lord. That's what the Dark Lord felt like.

* * *

Noon passed in a blur of adrenaline and spell casting. Bellatrix had speed on her side, but Hermione had raw power, and a nasty creativity she knew wasn't natural. The curses flowed through her lips with easy, rolling off the tongue and spinning off her wand as if they were first-year transfigurations.

Bellatrix dodged. Bellatrix parried. Bellatrix screamed as curse after curse hit her, wrenching every bit of pain from her that Hermione could.

"How—" Bellatrix panted, blood dripping from her eyes. "How is this possible?" she spat out. She writhed on the floor, limbs twitching and useless. Her wand lay in a broken heap.

"Did you feel powerful, when you tortured and killed my defenceless parents?" Hermione whispered into Bellatrix's ear. "Did you feel like a god?" She slammed Bellatrix's head into the ground. "You don't know true power!" she screamed. "You're weak, do you hear me!?" She punctuated her words with repeated slams. "You're worthless, and pathetic, and evil, and horrible, and—"

"Hermione, she's dead," Professor Snape said gently.

Hermione hadn't even heard him approach. She dropped the corpse, Lestrange's body looking so small and fragile in the aftermath. Immediately she threw up, everything she had in her stomach and more, drying heaving through her tears.

"Oh god," she moaned. Her hands were shaking. "Oh god, oh god, what have I done?"

"This is war," Professor Snape said, but he wasn't trying to console her. He just sounded sad.

"I'm a monster," she weeped. "I thought— I thought it would feel good. I thought it would feel better. I thought once she was dead, I wouldn't feel—" She fell silent, staring at Professor Snape with desperation.

He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and took her hands, slowly wiping the blood off of them. "Wouldn't feel what?" he asked quietly.

"Wouldn't feel broken anymore," Hermione choked out. She couldn't reconcile the small kindness he was doing with the horror around her. "But I feel exactly the same." She shuddered. "No, I feel worse, so much worse. At least before I believed that no matter what, no matter what I did, I was still better than her. Now I know I'm not. Oh god, I'm so much worse." Her head felt hot and stuffy, and she was dizzy with pain and sorrow. She couldn't think, couldn't feel—

"War makes monsters of us all," Professor Snape muttered to himself, still holding her hands.

"I've ruined myself," Hermione said. She wrenched her hands out of his grasp, the sorrow turning into blazing anger. "What would my parents think, if they saw me? If they saw what I've become? Everything I did, I did for them, and they would hate me for it!"

"That's not—"

"Why didn't you stop me?" she screamed at him. "You could've stopped me! You said that revenge wouldn't satisfy me. You knew what would happen! Why didn't you— why didn't you—" The rage gave way again, such a fast return to the deep, soul-crushing sadness that all she could do was fall to the ground.

"I didn't know what would happen," Professor Snape said regretfully. He crouched down next to her. "If I had, I never would've let you touch that locket."

Hermione's hand immediately went to her throat. The locket wasn't there. She'd left it in Grimmauld Place. She didn't need to wear it anymore.

"I thought it would fix me," she said hollowly, staring at nothing. "But it turns out I'm broken beyond repair."

Professor Snape wrapped his arms around her, whispering nonsense words of comfort into her ears. She couldn't conceive of it. She couldn't conceive of anything beyond the grief and regret and anger and desperation and maelstrom of emotions that churned through her mind and imprisoned her.

She didn't notice Sirius Black quietly pick his way into the room, or the way Professor Snape shook his head slightly. She didn't see Sirius look over Bellatrix and sigh, giving Professor Snape a helpless shrug.

She didn't pay any attention to the two men cleaning up the body, setting the house back in order after its third gruesome murder.

She felt when they Apparated her back to Grimmauld Place, because how could she not, but she didn't react as they led her into the kitchen and settled her at the table with a cup of tea.

She just sat there. She could feel, inside, that Bellatrix Lestrange wasn't the only one to die that day. The spirit of Hermione Granger had died as well, leaving absolutely nothing in its place.


	6. Chapter 6

Sirius and Professor Snape were seated at the table together when she entered, talking in low voices. They weren't shouting, or even sniping sarcastically at each other as they usually did.

Hermione immediately paused, uncertain if she should enter and ruin this strange moment, but they stopped talking immediately upon seeing her.

"That can't be good," the mirror man muttered into her ear. "Perhaps they've finally learned to stop trusting you."

Sirius bounced up from his seat. "Hermione! Sit down! I'll make you tea! Do you want a biscuit? Molly sent over some. Why I don't I just give you one, here, aren't they great?"

Hermione was swept up in Sirius' whirlwind of hospitality, and a moment later she was seated, mug and biscuit in hand. "Thanks," she mumbled, looking down at the table. She couldn't stand everyone being so nice to her.

Well, Professor Snape wasn't being nice, at least. He was staring at her with a thoughtful expression, absent-mindedly tapping his chin with his thumb. What was he thinking about? Did he hate her for what she'd done? Did he still… love her?

"How are you feeling?" Sirius asked nervously.

"I want to have a funeral," Hermione said quietly.

Professor Snape let out a long sigh. "Your parents were cremated," he said. "Professor McGonagall is holding their ashes until you decide what to do with them."

"They were cremated?" Hermione said, startling. She hadn't— how had she not known? Her parents bodies were burnt to nothing and no one even told her?

"Miss Granger, this was your decision," Professor Snape said, a pained but unsurprised look on his face. "After you read the wills."

Hermione couldn't remember. Could she? She vaguely remembered something about wills. It had seemed so unimportant at the time. "I guess that's fine then," she said faintly. She could feel hysteria rising within her, but tamped it down with a ruthless determination. She had a job to do. "I would like to have a ceremony at least. Or just… something. It doesn't have to be anything special, maybe just something here?"

"Of course, Hermione," Sirius said immediately. "That's a great idea."

Professor Snape was still looking at her, eyes slightly narrowed. She tried her best to act normal, to not fold under the scrutiny.

"You're doing great, Hermione," someone whispered in her ear.

"Can my friends come?" she asked, voice small and sad. Too small? No, Sirius was nodding vigorously.

"Of course," he said, "whatever you want."

"Much care will need to be taken," Professor Snape said slowly. "I will need to discuss it with the Headmaster."

"Okay," Hermione said, hoping she was right not to push. Subterfuge and manipulation were not her strong suits. She felt foolish even trying.

"It's not even a lie," he said softly, sounding as if he were standing right behind her. There was no one there, of course, even if she could feel his warm, solid presence. "You would love for your friends to come."

Hermione drank her tea and ate her biscuit and made quiet, subdued conversation with Sirius.

And Professor Snape watched her.

* * *

"Dear God, Albus, you can't seriously be considering this!" Severus said, furiously pacing back and forth across the Headmaster's office. "There is something seriously wrong in that house! To bring more people into it—"

"Harry was there only a few months ago," Albus reminded him patiently. "And there were no ill effects at the time."

"Something's changed," Severus said reluctantly.

"Oh?" Albus asked. He wasn't surprised at all, the bastard. "Perhaps something to do with why I haven't heard from you in weeks?"

"Weeks?" Severus said. "I sent you a letter just a few days—"

"In October," Albus said. "It's November now."

Severus sat down heavily. "I see," he said. "I hadn't— my classes?" His head was spinning. November? How?

"Professor Slughorn was kind enough to cover your classes. He and Dolores have been getting along famously, as it happens. Birds of a feather, it seems. I believe he's even been a good influence on her."

"You've replaced me," Severus said, more bothered by the missing time. He hated teaching anyway.

"Only until Yule," Albus replied. "I believe you're working on something more important."

"What do you mean?" Severus asked, finally looking up at Albus. He felt strange, jittery like he hadn't slept in days and then downed a gallon of coffee. He desperately needed a cigarette.

"I have been kept abreast of the happenings in that house," Albus said. "And I believe the three of you have stumbled upon something critical to winning this war. Care must be taken, of course, but I have high hopes that the three of you can manage."

"How? How do you know?" Severus demanded, but then his eyes slid to the portraits behind the Headmaster's desk. Phineas Nigellus Black was pretending to nap in his frame, a small satisfied smile on his face. "I am a fucking moron," Severus said faintly, rubbing a hand over his face. "I can't believe I actually thought we were keeping anything from you."

"Your efforts were admirable," Albus said, barely concealing his laughter. "But alas, ultimately fruitless."

"Aren't you… upset?" Severus asked uncertainly. It seemed strange that Albus didn't care that he'd helped and encouraged an underage student to perform dark magic rituals. And also had spent an inordinate amount of time alone in his bedroom with her. And also had spent time in her bedroom as well. Merlin, his sins really piled up when you looked at them.

"Severus, I do not approve of your choices," Albus said. "But I understand why you made them, and I see that there has been significant value in the results. Miss Granger has discovered two artefacts that are critical to defeating Tom. I am saddened to see the personal sacrifice she had to make in order to achieve such a victory, but that does not change the fact that it is indeed a victory. She is young still. I can only pray that her soul will recover."

Severus winced. "She has a long ways to go."

"Then it's good she has such an excellent teacher," Albus said mildly, but Severus could detect a hint of steely recrimination in his voice.

"Of course, I will help her," Severus sighed. Apparently impropriety paled in comparison to teaching a student dark magic so she could murder someone. He had really not wanted Albus to find out about that. He supposed the only saving grace was that it was Miss Granger and not Mister Potter. That would've been a rather different story.

"Whatever it takes, Severus," Albus warned.

This was his punishment then. There were far worse punishments he could have faced. "Whatever it takes," Severus agreed, and he meant it, he truly did. This was his fuck-up to fix.

"As you can see, there is no problem with Harry attending the funeral," Albus said, as if everything were settled.

"Have you not been paying attention?" Severus asked in alarm. "The whole house is steeped in dark magic, not to mention whatever influence the Dark Lord has. Potter must stay here, where it's safe."

"I believe this is the perfect chance to draw out whatever plan Tom has," Albus countered.

"By willingly walking into his trap?!"

"By tempting him with something he cannot refuse," Albus said patiently. "And once he has revealed himself, we can strike."

"This is the boy's first year all over again," Severus complained.

"Once you are able to isolate the artefacts, you will be able to destroy them with this." And then Albus pulled out the fucking Sword of Gryffindor, as if that were a normal thing to keep in one's desk.

"Please explain," Severus said. If Albus didn't start making sense he was going to take that sword and—

"This sword is magic," Albus said. "You may use it to destroy the artefacts."

"I understood that much!"

"What else is there to understand?"

"Everything, Albus! What the fuck are these things?" Severus felt his fear seep into his voice. He wasn't easily spooked; he'd seen countless indescribable horrors in his life, to say nothing of the atrocities he'd personally committed. But these were far more dangerous and terrifying than anything he'd ever encountered. What other cursed objects could corrupt so quickly, so completely, that one's very soul would be twisted?

Albus sighed. "Is it not enough for me to tell you that these artefacts are highly dangerous, and instrumental in Tom's bid for immortality? Were we to destroy all of them, Tom would be as mortal as any man."

"I suppose I must be satisfied with that," Severus said, dropping his head into his hands. It was more information than he usually got out of Albus. "I fear we are all doomed," he added quietly. "Steeped in darkness, haunted by death, what else can we do but await our inevitable demise?"

"Oh Severus," Albus said. "I do appreciate your sense of melodrama, but you must keep your spirits up. The first step towards victory is to have faith that victory is possible."

"Is that a quote from somewhere?" Severus asked suspiciously.

"Isn't everything?"

"Albus, you will be the death of me some day," Severus said in defeat.

"My dear boy, sometimes I feel I'm the only thing keeping you alive."

* * *

Hermione was cooking furiously.

"Do you need any help?" Sirius asked hesitantly. There were dirty mixing bowls everywhere, bits of egg shell scattered across the counters, and butter melting away too close to the oven.

"Kreacher is helping me," Hermione said absent-mindedly, fiddling with some sort of dough. She paused to glance over at the wall. There wasn't anything there that Sirius could see.

"He's trying to poison you," Sirius said. As if Kreacher would ever be helpful. He would probably drop dead if he even tried.

"He's been very friendly to me lately," Hermione replied, distracted again by the recipe she was squinting at. "He's off getting more eggs right now."

Sirius thought he knew why Kreacher had been friendly, and decided not to think about that any further. Kreacher would change his tune if he knew what Hermione had done to Bella, anyway. Or… maybe not. "What are you making?"

"Biscuits. And, um, maybe some other pastries as well. My mum and I— I don't know. I thought it would be nice to make something for the, um, thing later. For everyone."

"Who's coming?" Sirius asked, to distract Hermione from her sad memories.

"Harry, um, and the Weasleys. Professor Snape said it would be too big of a risk to invite anyone else, but I don't really have any other friends anyway."

"None?" Sirius asked in surprise. He'd always thought of Hermione as a younger version of Lily, and Lily had had loads of friends.

"People don't really like me very much," Hermione said, trying to make it sound like it didn't bother her. How could it not though?

"Why not?" Sirius asked. "Because you're muggleborn?"

Hermione winced. Again, she looked over at the wall. Sirius was about to apologise when she finally said: "Well, no, actually. It's because I'm a know-it-all who bosses people around and doesn't respect anyone who isn't as smart as me, which is everyone so there you go."

Sirius couldn't help himself: he laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"That's an impressive amount of self-reflection for someone who's sixteen," Sirius said in amusement. And the way she said it, so matter-of-fact, was hilarious.

"It would be ignorant of me not to acknowledge my flaws. It's not like I can ignore them, anyway," Hermione muttered. She'd finished portioning the dough out onto a baking tray and popped it in the oven. A flick of her wand and she'd set a timer.

"That's a handy spell," Sirius commented.

"What does know-it-all mean to you then?"

There was the soft crack of house-elf Apparation. "Mistress Granger, Kreacher has eggs," Kreacher said, shyly presenting the eggs to Hermione.

"Thanks," the girl said, starting on her next baking project. Sirius had no idea what she was doing.

"Bad Master is lurking," Kreacher muttered to himself, giving Sirius the stink-eye. "Bad Master is interfering in the baking."

"I'm not interfering!" Sirius protested, unable to stop himself getting baited by the house-elf. "I'm just sitting here!"

"The traitor son doesn't even help," Kreacher said to himself as he shuffled around the kitchen. "He is too lazy and useless."

"Hermione doesn't need my help," Sirius said, rolling his eyes.

"Kreacher wonders who will set the table since bad Master is too stupid," Kreacher. He wasn't setting the table either, Sirius noted petulantly.

"Will you stop? Hermione, make him stop."

"Don't bring me into this," Hermione warned. "I have no emotional investment in whatever petty squabble you have going on."

"Petty squabble?" Sirius said, aghast, but Hermione just raised her eyebrows skeptically. "Fine then," he sulked, "I'll just wait in my workshop where I won't bother anyone."

"I'll save an extra biscuit just for you," Hermione promised, which cheered him up. Besides, he didn't want to hang out with Kreacher anyway.

Except waiting in his workshop turned out to be extra painful, because the house soon filled with the smell of fresh baked goods. Thankfully it wasn't long before Sirius heard the sounds of activity from the kitchen — which meant his godson had arrived.

Sirius raced back to the kitchen, immediately pulling Harry into a big hug.

"Sirius, what—"

"I missed you, kid," Sirius said, trying to keep any girly emotion out of his voice. He was embarrassed by just how much he'd missed Harry. With everything that had been going on, things had gotten pretty dark around the house.

"Hermione, are you okay?" That was Ron, looking at Hermione with wide eyes while she set out the biscuits she'd made. "I'm so sorry. Why didn't you tell us sooner? We haven't seen you in months, and then we find out your parents—" The boy was getting agitated.

"It's complicated, Ron," Hermione said, frost layering her voice. "I'm sorry I didn't make time to keep you up to date with every detail of burying my parents."

Ron winced. "That's not what I meant, I just— I could've— we could've been there for you!"

"Ron's just worried," Harry said, twisting out of Sirius' hug and looking at Hermione helplessly. "We haven't heard from you in ages and we were so worried. Then McGonagall told us and this whole time we've been worrying and messing around at school and you've been… I'm sorry, Hermione. We just want to make sure you're okay." Sirius tightened his grip on Harry's shoulder in silent solidarity.

Hermione stared at Harry, a pained expression on her face. "I'm sorry too," she said quietly. "I'm so sorry, you have no idea. It has to be this way."

Harry was about to ask something, probably about that baffling and strangely ominous remark, but was interrupted by Snivellus stepping through the floo, followed by Fred and George.

"Wait, why are you here?" Ron asked Snape. Sirius hid a smile at Ron's hilarious lack of tact. This was sure to be excellent.

"To make sure you idiots don't blow yourselves up," Snape said with a sneer. To Sirius' disappointment, he seemed too tired for an actual fight. Best not to, anyway. Wasn't good for the kids.

Truthfully, Sirius was grateful for Snape's presence. Deep, deep down. There was something weird going on, something strange in the air that he couldn't put his finger on. It wasn't that he didn't trust Hermione, but she'd been giving him a strange vibe recently and he felt better having another adult in the house. Even if it was Snape.

Ron was about to put his foot in it again, so Sirius jumped in to talk to Fred and George about some modifications on their latest design. He gave Harry a wink as he did so — his godson looked relieved at avoiding a fight with Snape.

"What's the plan?" Harry asked Hermione. Sirius was busy talking to Fred and George, but he could carry on a conversation and eavesdrop at the same time.

"I thought maybe we could modify the—" George was saying.

"No plan, really," Hermione said. "Just… I don't know. Relax, maybe. It's stupid. But I just wanted some way to—"

"And then with the thruster in the back we can—"

"Hermione, you don't have to—"

"—to the reverse, if there aren't any—"

Damn. Sirius wasn't as good at this as he remembered himself being. Still. Harry and Hermione seemed fine. With that decided, he re-focused his attention on Fred and George and let himself get caught up in the conversation.

Maybe he could enjoy the party after all.

* * *

"Isn't this pathetic?" Tom said, leaning against the wall and watching the gathering. "These are the only friends you have? Half of them aren't even yours." She'd finally learned his name was Tom. Just like Voldemort.

"Ginny couldn't come," Hermione said, trying to hide her embarrassment. She looked over at where Ron and Harry were laughing and sharing treats. That she'd made. Not that anyone acknowledged that.

"Couldn't or didn't care to?"

"I don't know," she admitted. She spoke softly. Professor Snape was reading a book in the corner, mostly ignoring them, but it wouldn't do for him to see her talking to thin air. He couldn't know about Tom; that was critical.

"And the friends you do have… pathetic," Tom said, continuing on full steam ahead. "Look at those two. They've barely a brain cell to rub together. All this time you've been hurting, you've been suffering, and where were they?"

"I didn't tell them," Hermione defended them.

"And they didn't ask, did they? When's the last time you heard from them, before this?"

Hermione thought back. "The first day I was here…"

"When they realised you weren't there to do their homework for them."

Hermione sighed.

"You do know why they don't respect you, don't you?" Tom said, whispering poison into her ear. "It's because you're a muggleborn. Worth less than dirt to them. What good are you with dirty blood poisoning your veins?"

Hermione had a strong will. Of course she did. She was as secure as a teenager could be in her own self image. But even the best of us are vulnerable sometimes, and when you're as tired and upset and confused as Hermione was at that moment, you might be very vulnerable indeed. Still, Hermione resisted. "They do respect me," she said. Her friends loved her.

Didn't they?

"Maybe they did once, but look at you now. You haven't been in school for over a month, too weak to even manage your classes. What will happen when you return, and you're chapters behind everyone else? It will take you months to catch up, the whole while falling further behind— Face it, Hermione. You've lost your place at the top of the class. Who are you without that? You've been revealed for the fraud that you are. Just another mediocre mudblood proving everyone else right about you."

"No, I can fix this," Hermione said desperately. "I know I can."

Tom stepped closer to her, smiling encouragingly. "I know you can Hermione, I believe in you. The first step is easy. Complete our deal, and you'll be free to return to whatever's left of your life. You'll work hard at school, maybe with your grades high enough you can make up for getting your parents killed. Of course, it will be difficult to make your peers see you as anything but a dirty mudblood, too stupid to protect the people she loved most. The only people who could love you without being cursed into it, dead by your own hand. But you're so clever, Hermione, if anyone can do it, you can."

"Right," Hermione said, spirits low. Even just thinking about how badly she'd screwed everything up was painful beyond belief. She existed half in a state of dazed inertia, letting herself be pulled along by the trajectory she'd set herself on.

Tom slid an arm around her shoulder. "I'm proud of you Hermione, I truly am. Your strength of character is incredible. It infuriates me that no one will ever see it, that no one will be able to look past your accident of birth to see the amazing young woman you are."

"Thank you," Hermione whispered. She furiously blinked away the sting of tears. She hated how much his comfort meant to her. Sometimes she hated him more than anything. But sometimes she didn't, and that was even worse.

"Now go. You have your part to play." Tom nodded over at where Harry was now sitting alone, Ron having left to use the restroom. Hermione had laced a biscuit for him with a strong laxative. He would be in the bathroom for a while. She knew she should feel bad, but she didn't. She'd used up all her guilt on other things already.

Hermione walked over to him, as if in a dream. "Harry, could you help me get something from the library?"

"Sure, Hermione, what is it?" Harry asked quizzically.

"Just a memorial. I don't know, it's stupid." She looked down at the ground. Her face was heating up from the lie, but hopefully it would read as embarrassment.

"Of course," Harry said, face softening. "Whatever you want."

Sirius waved at them as they left, still deep in conversation with the twins. Professor Snape was glued to his book, and didn't pay them any attention. The wordless Notice-me-not charm she'd cast certainly helped.

Once they were out of earshot of the kitchen, Hermione said: "Oh, it's in my room actually, I forgot."

"Still the same one?" Harry asked, pivoting to go up the stairs instead.

"Yes, right down from yours."

"Oh, sorry about that, Ron snores like crazy. We've all learned to just put up silencing charms when he gets too loud."

"It's okay, I'm used to it," Hermione said with an attempt at a smile. "Lavender snores too."

"Really?" Harry asked, fascinated. "I never would've— er, Hermione—" He'd pushed her door open and she'd immediately pushed him inside, closing and locking the door behind her. "Is something wrong?" he asked in alarm. It broke her heart how trusting he was, even in the face of her deception.

Hermione didn't know what she was supposed to do now. She'd expected something more dramatic to happen once she got him in her room.

"Stall for time," Tom instruction. He'd picked up the cup and the locket and was doing something strange with them.

"Harry, I need to know," Hermione said, then stopped, thinking quickly. "Is Ron— is he really mad at me?"

"Of course he isn't," Harry said immediately. "You know how he gets sometimes. We were both really worried about you. It's not like you to miss so much school, and we had no idea…"

Hermione rubbed at her eyes, trying to stop the flow of tears. What was she doing? Harry was her friend, and she'd… The tears came for real now, streaming down her face without permission.

"Oh, er, are you okay?" Harry asked helplessly. "I'm sorry, was it something I said?" He looked so awkward standing there that Hermione stepped forward and pulled him into a tight hug.

"No, I'm sorry," she said, voice wavering. "I'm so sorry." She held the hug, and Harry finally started to relax into it.

"Shhh, it's okay," he said, patting her back hesitantly.

"What a lovely display of affection," Tom said. He was standing right next to them, holding their wands. He'd managed to take Harry's without him even noticing. Gently, Tom grabbed Hermione's hand and placed her wand inside. "You know what to do," he said.

Hermione shut her eyes tight, and cast. She felt Harry go limp in her arms, dragging both of them down to the floor. "I'm sorry Harry, I'm so sorry," she said, sobbing furiously. He was alive, but unconscious. The ritual could begin. "It has to be this way."

Tom walked her through the setup, although she'd learned enough to predict what the next steps would be. Runes were drawn quickly, with a steady hand despite her tears. She prepped the ingredients, carefully gathered by Kreacher. Harry's wand went on his chest. Speed was paramount here. At any moment Professor Snape could realise she'd gone and be suspicious enough to come after her.

The room filled with magic. It made her skin tingle and her hair wave in an unfelt breeze. The locket and cup were placed in their spots of honour.

"Hermione, you've done wonderfully," Tom said, smiling down at her with genuine affection. "When I am whole again, you will stand at my right hand, a place of honour."

"But I'll need to get back to my life," Hermione protested weakly. She desperately wanted anything Tom would give her, but deep inside, he scared her more than she could put to words.

"My darling, don't you see?" Tom said with pity. "After this, you won't have any life left to return to. Do you truly think any of them will forgive you for what you've done?" He gestured at Harry, lying vulnerable on the floor. His skin had turned deathly pale, and the rise and fall of his chest got weaker with every passing moment. "You'll have no choice but to come with me. And when you do, you will be rewarded beyond all your possible dreams."

"Why would you reward a mudblood," Hermione choked out. "I'm nothing."

"None of the others see your worth, but I do," Tom said, cupping her chin gently. He was standing right in front of her, and she could feel how solid his chest was under her hands. "I'm the only one who can truly see you, Hermione," he whispered, leaning in closer. Their faces were inches apart.

"Tom…" Hermione's eyes fell closed.

And then the door exploded, throwing both of them to the ground. The runes in the circle were smudged, and immediately the magic in the air went crazy.

Hermione groggily pushed herself up, and saw Professor Snape standing in the doorway, rapidly casting.

"No, stop—" Hermione said frantically, but it was too late. The magic swirling in the room reached a furious crescendo. The last thing Hermione saw before she passed out was Professor Snape, holding a sword of all things.

* * *

Potter was in the hospital wing. He'd been in a coma for two days, and showed no signs of waking.

"Give it time," Poppy said firmly. "Harry will recover. He just needs time."

Harry Potter had suffered severe magical exhaustion, as well as a bad concussion. The brain trauma had been healed, but they wouldn't know if there were any lasting effects until the boy woke up.

Whenever that would be.

"It could've been worse," Albus said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "It could've been better, yes, but it could've been a lot worse."

"Worse?!" Severus protested, aghast and deeply rattled. "If I had been a second later it might've been too late! I almost missed it altogether!"

"Ah, but you weren't," Albus said mildly, leaning back in his chair.

Severus exploded. "I fucking warned you Albus! I told you over and over that this was too dangerous! Black was no fucking help at all, he let them just walk out of the room without a care, too caught up in his stupid inventions with those useless idiots! Granger took Potter right out from under my nose. I don't even know how long it took me to remove the Notice-me-not! They could've been up there for ages, doing fuck all knows what."

"Harry is a strong boy," Albus said. He popped a lemon drop in his mouth. "He's faced Tom before and lived."

Severus clutched at his head to stop it from imploding with the force of his fury. "I can't do this," he said. "I can't do this anymore. Ask someone else. Ask fucking anyone. I can't do this."

"Severus," Albus said kindly. "You succeeded. You destroyed two of Tom's ties to life in one fell swoop. You have bought us an incredible advantage."

"Potter almost died. And the girl…" He trailed off. The girl.

"You must remember she is a victim in all this," Albus chided.

"You think I don't fucking know that?" Severus snapped. "I'm well aware of just who the responsible party is, thank you very much."

"Tom Riddle."

"What?" Severus was taken aback.

"Tom Riddle is the one responsible. Him and Bellatrix Lestrange. They carry all fault for this, do you understand?"

"But—"

"Do you understand?" Albus repeated sternly.

Severus wilted under his heavy gaze. "I suppose," he said sullenly.

"Capital. Now are you prepared to return to Grimmauld Place?" Albus said, his business-like demeanour firmly back in place.

"What use could I possibly be there?"

Albus sighed. "Miss Granger has fallen under Tom's sway. With his artefacts destroyed, his hold on her has been weakened. With a careful hand, it's likely that she could be returned back to our side, safe and whole."

"Weakened? Not vanished completely?" Severus asked.

Albus shook his head. "Alas, such is his power. Tom has always been incredibly convincing, even without any magic at all."

Severus shuddered. He could remember very well exactly how convincing the Dark Lord was. "How long do I have?" he asked. He had no idea how difficult Granger would be, and he was not looking forward to finding out. The process of removing the Dark Lord's hold on her would be painful, to say the least. For both of them.

"Until the end of the Yule holiday," Albus said. "Horace has been kind enough to cover your lessons until then, but he refuses to continue beyond that."

Severus paced the office. Two months, then. "Albus… if it's truly November… why has the Dark Lord not called me? It's impossible that he would not have heard about my absence. Is he still abroad?" He doubted it. The Dark Lord would never trust his followers to be without him for so long.

"Likely not," Albus confirmed. "Truthfully, Severus, Bellatrix's death has most certainly revealed you as a spy."

Fucking hell. "Perhaps I can convince—" Severus' mind was working desperately to thing of a way out of this.

"No, Severus," Albus said, shaking his head. "It's over. I cannot risk you any further."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Severus asked, voice shaking slightly. "When I could've done something? I could've fixed this!"

"My dear boy, your position has been precarious for some time. After the events of this summer, I knew I would need to make alternative arrangements. And I have. The destruction of two of Tom's most precious artefacts and the death of his most faithful follower is a worthy trade."

"This isn't a chess game," Severus said. He was furious at Albus and furious at himself for being so upset about this. Hadn't he dreamed of a day when he would no longer be a spy? And now he felt like little more than discarded debris, cast aside to rot.

"No. The pieces in this game are far too precious to lose."

Severus' anger ebbed. Albus was giving him the kind of look that penetrated straight into his soul and ground up his insides until there was nothing left but dust. "I see," he said, carefully masking the depths of his pain. "And what of me? What purpose do I have now?"

"You mean other than being a brilliant potioneer and expert at combatting the Dark Arts? You'll serve no less purpose than Minerva, I should imagine. Is that truly so horrible a fate?"

No, perhaps not. However, he doubted his newfound status would bring him any more respect within the Order. Likely they would blame him for Potter's current state. "And what will I do when he summons me next?" When the Dark Lord decided to finally let him stop stewing in fear and actually summon him, the pain would be difficult to manage. The dark mark had a limited capacity to injure, but a surprising ability to cause pain. Not sharp pain, but continuous. Highly distracting.

"I've found a numbing charm that will help," Albus said. "I advise you do not respond at all. If Tom had the ability to damage his followers through the mark, he would have used it already."

On Karkaroff. Severus nodded. "That is acceptable." This was it. Freedom. Of a sort. He could feel a tingling in his bones at the momentous occasion. His life, forever changed by a single conversation in an old man's office.

Or perhaps changed by the months of mystery, love, and murder leading up to it.

"Are you clear on your priorities going forward?"

How could he not be? "The girl," Severus said. "But what about Potter?"

Albus shook his head. "Harry is undergoing the same treatment that we gave Ginevra after her time in the Chamber of Secrets. The magnitude of his trauma was greater, but he is already showing small signs of improvement."

The Chamber? That meant the diary… Another one of the Dark Lord's precious artefacts then. What were they? "Very well," Severus said stiffly. It would've been impolite to smile, so he kept the expression off his face. But inside, relief and joy infused every part of his body. "I will return to Black's hovel." Even that couldn't darken his mood.

Albus nodded. "And Severus?" he said, as Severus readied the floo.

"What?"

There was a long pause, rich with all the things left unsaid between them. "Good luck."


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's note: Final chapter, everyone. Thanks for reading. _

* * *

Hermione had a new room.

This one was in the basement. It had a bed. The bed was okay. There was a bathroom attached. There was a bookshelf with a few of the books from her room. None of her other school supplies were there.

There was no door.

Food appeared in her room occasionally. It probably corresponded to mealtimes, but she didn't know for sure.

She didn't have a clock.

She definitely didn't have her wand.

She knew she was in trouble. She couldn't stop thinking about Harry's face, pale and sickly and dying.

She couldn't stop thinking about Professor Snape bursting into the room, about Tom's expression when he saw the sword.

She couldn't stop thinking about Tom's cries of fury as his precious treasures had been destroyed, the moment when he'd disappeared.

He'd been looking at her when he vanished. He'd been staring straight into her eyes. She would've thought he'd be angry, furious at her, but he wasn't.

He was just sad. Like he'd been counting on her and she'd let him down.

Hermione knew he was gone. She knew it, she could feel it. The magic that had left her confused was gone.

But traces remained. She could still hear his voice in her mind, only this time it wasn't him speaking.

It was her. She was doing this to herself.

_You've really fucked it up this time, Hermione_, the voice said, nasty and comforting all at once. _They're not going to forgive you. They're going to lock you up because you're worthless, and you've always been worthless. Now you've just proved it. _

"Please stop," Hermione said reasonably. "I don't care what you think."

_You idiot. I am you. Who are you trying to kid? What do you think your parents would think if they knew you'd tried to kill your best friend, you stupid fucking piece of shit_.

Hermione threw a book at the wall and immediately regretted it. Her mother had bought her that book, and now she'd dinged the cover.

_Why are you even still alive?_ the voice asked. _What good are you doing to the world? Don't you think things would be easier for everyone if you were dead? All you do is hurt the people around you. Sixteen and already a murderer. _

_ Isn't the age that Tom Riddle started as well?_ Hermione screamed.

* * *

_November 18, 1995_

Severus methodically cracked every one of his knuckles. Then he arranged the teapot on the table just so. He gave the cups a critical eye. Dusty. He conjured a cloth and carefully wiped them down until they were sparkling. He Vanished the dust cloth. Except the table wasn't very clean either. He conjured another cloth and cleaned the table.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered to himself. He was only delaying the inevitable.

He needed to talk to Granger.

"Bring her in," he told Mipsy, the house-elf he'd borrowed from Hogwarts. Kreacher was still refusing to talk to him for ignoring their deal. Who would've thought that Black would be more useful to him than a decrepit old house-elf who hated everyone? Truly, Severus had been prepared to choose Kreacher, but life worked in mysterious ways.

"Mipsy is bringing the young Miss," Mipsy said, and disappeared. A few long moments later she was back, Miss Granger in tow.

The girl looked terrified.

"Sit down," Severus instructed. He kept his voice neutral. There was no emotion he could have that would be appropriate for this moment. Fuck, nothing about this moment was appropriate.

"Are you going to send me to Azkaban?"she asked, looking at him straight in the eye. Fucking Gryffindors.

"No," he answered. "Your imprisonment would accomplish nothing. The Dark Lord is no longer controlling you."

The girl shook her head. She didn't seem convinced. "What am I doing here then?"

"We're going to have a series of conversations to determine your mental state. Once we are sure that all foreign influences are entirely gone, you will be able to return to your normal life at Hogwarts."

The girl snorted. "I sincerely doubt it."

"Oh?"

"Any chance I had at a normal life has vanished into nonexistence."

Severus leaned back in his chair, trying to put additional distance between them. He'd hurt so many people over the years, but he wasn't sure he'd ever destroyed someone as thoroughly as he'd destroyed Hermione Granger. Bile rose in the back of this throat as he contemplated the depths of his sins. "Your friends will forgive you," he croaked out. "As they forgave Miss Weasley."

"Ginny? With the diary?" Granger shook her head. "That was different. This was… I wanted this. I asked for this. I begged for it. Every step of the way I had a choice and I picked the wrong one. I couldn't have done a better job ruining everything if I'd been trying." Her voice was flat and emotionless, but Severus could see panic rising in her eyes.

"These meetings will determine what portion of your actions was a result of the Dark Lord's influence." And Severus' own. He wouldn't be surprised if it accounted for all of it. He'd never seen any sign of ruthlessness in the girl before. Perhaps the death of her parents had given her the initial motivation, but the second she'd laid hands on that locket, she'd been lost.

"Do you regret it?" the girl asked, out of nowhere.

"What?" Severus was stunned.

"Do you regret helping me?" Her chin was thrust forward in steely determination. What the fuck?

"I-" had no idea what to say. Of course Severus regretted it. Except, only sort of. Missing work, that had been excellent of course. The death of his spying career, honestly neutral. It was a shame to happen so soon, but he'd known it would happen eventually and better now when he wouldn't be killed for it. Bellatrix being dead was nothing short of amazing. Potter's injuries were not ideal, but Albus seemed convinced that the boy would be fine. Perhaps he'd been lying, but if so, that wasn't exactly Severus' problem right now.

Then there was the girl herself. She was so young it was almost painful to look at her. "I regret the damage my actions have caused you and Potter," he settled on. He kept his tone carefully neutral.

Miss Granger's expression melted into sincere worry. "Is Harry going to be okay?" she asked, wringing her hands.

"In time."

"What does that mean? Is he not okay right now? Is he— He can't be dead."

"I said he would be alright in time, that implies by default that he is not dead. Unless your faith in our healing ability is truly so high as to think we might resurrect a corpse?"

"No, just tell me, how is he? Really?" Granger said desperately.

Severus drummed his fingers on the table. "Potter is in a coma," he finally said. He tried to be delicate. It was not something he was particularly good at. "The Headmaster believes he will recover in time."

"Oh god," Granger moaned. "What if he has brain damage? Oh god."

"You do not wish to see him dead?"

"No, of course not!" A trace of the fire that usually inhabited Hermione Granger. There, and then gone again in an instant. "I mean, no, not really."

"Then why try to kill him?" Rip the band-aid off, Severus. As painfully as possible.

"I… It wasn't my first choice, but Tom…" She looked off at the wall, a wistful expression on her face. "It seemed a reasonable trade."

"The life of your friend for power?" Severus carefully put all thoughts of his own history out of his mind. Sympathy was fine, yes, but only at a distance.

"He's not my friend." There it was. The expression on her face changed suddenly, her countenance darkening. This was the Hermione that was under the Dark Lord's sway.

"No? You don't think so?"

"He's just using me to do his homework for him," the girl said. She shook her head. "He doesn't care about me as a person. Neither of them do. I'm just another uppity mudblood."

There was a lot to unpack there. "What makes you think Potter is just using you for homework? He's never seemed to care particularly about his grades." An understatement of the year. Potter was firmly in the "mediocre and uncaring" category of students. At least he wasn't in the "mediocre and proud of it" category. Those students were the worst.

"He cares enough about not failing," Granger said. "But he doesn't care about me. He's best friends with Ron, and they hang out all the time, and then suddenly they'll remember, Oh, we have homework due, better spend time with Hermione so she can walk us through every single step. Better finally acknowledge that Hermione exists so she's willing to help us. What's the bare minimum of friendship we can get away with to stay on Hermione's good side? They don't know— they don't know anything about me!" Her eyes were wide, and her face had gone pale.

That sounded too emotional to be purely the result of the Dark Lord. It seemed he'd found a deep-seated fear of hers to cut at. He'd always been good at that. The Dark Lord could take one look at a person and identify all their triggers, all their prides and flaws and the deep parts of themselves they didn't acknowledge existed.

And he'd never been afraid to use them.

"You've been friends with them for years," Severus finally said. "Why, if they've been taking advantage of you?"

"What other choice do I have?" she said. "There's no one else who'd want to be friends with me."

"Surely there are other students in your year who would benefit from your academic expertise. Why not befriend Longbottom? Or why not simply cast off the confines of friendship altogether? After all, no one is forcing you to socialise."

"I…" Miss Granger trailed off, confused. Severus thought that she hadn't expected this tactic. But if he could highlight the flaws in her logic, perhaps he could help her remember why exactly she was friends with the cretins in the first place. Then she could see what exactly were her own thoughts, and what were the Dark Lord's.

"Something to think about perhaps," Severus said mildly. "I expect an answer next time."

"Next time?" Of course she would jump on that. "Does that mean I can go?"

"So eager to return to your cell?"

The girl winced. "I guess not. What about you? Are you so eager to get rid of me?"

Severus had no answer to that. On one hand… but on the other… both options were equally attractive and equally horrifying. He wouldn't even think it. "No more than ever," he settled on, what felt like an appropriately neutral response.

The girl looked puzzled. For a moment, he thought she was going to ask something, and then—

The door burst open, Black standing there wand out and wild-eyed. "Snape! He's— fuck." As soon as Black saw Hermione he scowled, his whole face going dark with hatred that Severus was stunned to see directed at someone that wasn't him. Black retreated immediately, slamming the door behind him.

"Oh," Miss Granger said softly, the soft sigh of an unpleasant realisation. "Does he hate me?"

"Black has never been one to understand the subtleties of a situation," Severus said neutrally.

The girl was resigned.

"Return to your room. We'll convene again tomorrow. Think on what I've said."

The girl nodded reluctantly.

Severus let the house-elf bring the girl back to her room. He needed to find Black.

* * *

_November 18th, 1995_

Sirius was pissed. He was furious. He was ready to burn the fucking house down if it meant she burned too. "That fucking bitch," he seethed, when Snape entered the room. "I want her out. I don't care what Albus says."

Snape sighed wearily, running a hand through the grease rags he called hair. "You must realise it was hardly her fault—"

"Like it wasn't Peter's fault, that spineless coward? We helped her! And then she turns around and tries to murder my godson?"

"Yes, we did help her," Snape said as if he were talking to a particularly dim-witted animal. It made Sirius' blood boil. "We helped her perform a dark ritual that connected her to the Dark Lord in ways it is impossible to understand. Do you remember when we first found the artefact in her room? Do you remember the dark magic infused into the very air? Is it any surprise that she should succumb to that level of influence?"

Sirius deflated. "She seemed fine," he said weakly.

"Before or after she tortured Bellatrix Lestrange to death?"

Sirius abruptly threw his mug on the floor, letting it shatter. "I'm so fucking sick of this," he said, eyes closed burying his head in his hands. "This fucking war just never ends. Friends turning against friends, just one thing after another, the same thing over and over and over— It's been fifteen years and nothing's fucking changed!" He was half hysterical, he knew it, but he couldn't stop the well of hopelessness from overtaking him, the despair always hiding inside that he usually managed to keep bottled up. He felt… so fucking useless.

"Not everything's the same," Snape said, a strange glint in his eye. "Albus has decided that my spying days are over."

"Doesn't trust you anymore?" Sirius said automatically, too surprised to say anything else.

Snape snorted. "Hardly. He knows that if the Dark Lord ever sees me again, I will die."

"What?"

Snape looked at him like he was stupid. "I helped kill his most beloved Death Eater and destroyed two of his most powerful artefacts. I'm lucky he hasn't already tried to kill me. Even going back to Hogwarts will be a risk, although if Potter is safe there likely I will be as well."

"Huh," Sirius said, mulling over this surprising information. He'd always been convinced that when push came to shove, Snivellus would end up on the other side of the war. "So what now? What good are you without your insider knowledge?" He carefully put away the thought that Snape was likely a good deal more useful than Sirius himself was. At least he was helping the twins. Without that, he'd probably have gone crazy with boredom and hopelessness.

Snape rolled his eyes, as if aware of his thoughts. Maybe he was, the fucking bastard. "My first task is to try and remove the Dark Lord's influence from Miss Granger's mind."

Sirius felt bad about his outburst now, but only a little. Hermione was a nice girl, but there'd always been something about her… Let's just say he wasn't entirely surprised to see that she'd been willing to go as far as murdering a friend in order to achieve her goals. Immediately, he felt worse for thinking that. Conflicted. He was definitely conflicted. "With magic?" he finally asked. Snape was at least passable in the mind arts. Way better than Sirius was, at least.

"Sadly, no. I do not believe magic would be effective."

"Then how?" Sirius asked, genuinely confused.

Snape raised an eyebrow at him. "Why, by talking to her."

* * *

_November 19th, 1995_

"Miss Granger, tell me about yourself," Severus said. His hands were flat on the table in front of him, and he met her eyes steadily, no matter how much it pained him to do so. Today was turning out so much more difficult than yesterday.

"I— I'm a mudblood," Hermione said, eyes roving around the room as if looking for an escape. She seemed unsettled, unable to sit still in her chair. A significant departure from yesterday, when she'd started their session calm and collected.

"What does that word mean to you?" Severus asked, keeping his voice as even as possible. Albus was fucking insane if he thought Severus was in any way qualified to do this. His _only_ qualification was that he too had once been taken in by the Dark Lord. Under very different circumstances.

"It means— it means my parents were muggles." Hermione seemed to be struggling with the words. "And that my blood is dirty."

"What makes your blood dirty?" Severus asked.

"Muggle blood," Hermione whispered, eyes downcast. "It's muggle blood inside of me."

"And muggle blood is dirty? What makes it dirty?"

"I— There are muggle diseases and such," Hermione said uncertainly. "Or genetics. It makes you weak."

"Do you feel weak, Miss Granger?" Severus asked.

Hermione nodded. "Yes," she said faintly. "Yes, I do."

"Do you remember before you thought that muggle blood was dirty?"

"I— yes," Hermione said, puzzled by this tactic.

"Did you feel weak then?"

"Sometimes," she said stiffly.

"As often?"

"No." She looked confused for a second before she managed to twist everything to fit into her warped understanding. "I was too stupid to understand the truth," she settled on. She was breathing heavily.

"Miss Granger, drink some water," Severus said, pushing the glass towards her.

She ignored it, eyes staring at something he couldn't see.

"Where is he?" she demanded, finally brining her eyes back to him. "What have you done with him?"

"Done with who?" Severus asked. He assumed she meant the Dark Lord, but would she admit it?

"Tom," she said, voice small and sad. "He's supposed to be here."

"Would you feel better if he was?"

"I miss him so much," she admitted. "It's my fault he's dead."

"Is that where he is? He's dead?"

"You killed him!" the girl shrieked suddenly. "With your sword, you killed him!"

"You are talking about the Dark Lord," Severus said patiently. "Tom Riddle was an aspect of the Dark Lord. He is well known for his treachery and skills at manipulation. He wanted you to kill Potter for him so that he could become stronger. He would've killed you as well, once you'd outlived your usefulness."

Hermione shook her head. "That's insane, he can't be Tom Riddle," she said firmly. The girl was regressing. Yesterday she'd understood exactly who Tom was. "My Tom is way too young to be the Dark Lord. He was... maybe a few years older than me." She hesitated. "Maybe mid-twenties, actually. But no older than that! And he was— he was nice to me—"

"Was he?" Severus asked skeptically.

"He said he was proud of me," Hermione said hoarsely. "He said I was brilliant, that he was so impressed with me, so proud that I'd been able to rise above my—"

"Above your heritage?" Severus finished for her, when she abruptly stopped.

She wouldn't look at him. There was reluctant acceptance on her face.

"Did he say anything else to disparage muggles or muggleborns?"

She stared at the table, unmoving.

"Do you remember being proud of your heritage?" Severus finally asked her, after the silence had stretched long into meaning.

"Yes," she said quietly.

"What changed? Why are you not proud now?"

"I had an artificially inflated sense of self worth," she said, glaring at the table. "I thought I was so much cleverer than anyone else. I thought my mind was clear and my judgement was sound. I was wrong though. Just so wrong. There's something evil inside me, or stupid or just useless. I don't know. But something wrong with me. I feel like part of me is missing or broken or twisted and awful and Tom said it was… the muggle blood. He said that's what that feeling was, and that he— he felt the same way because he had muggle blood too." She was crying now, tears streaming down her face and she desperately needed a tissue.

Severus wordlessly handed her his handkerchief. She took it without looking at him and tried to clean herself up without making it obvious how messy her face was.

Finally, Severus spoke. "My father was a muggle," he said slowly. It was deeply disturbing to hear that Tom Riddle had tried to seduce Hermione Granger the exact same way he'd seduced Severus Snape back in the day. He'd never thought of them as particularly similar. They'd never been particularly similar, at least until Bellatrix had cursed him and he'd ruined her life. Carefully, he cleared his mind, pushing away his self-loathing. It wouldn't help him now. Severus cleared his throat. "He was not a good man. He was too weak to overcome the problems life threw at him, and he succumbed. My mother was a witch, but she was not stronger. I have met many weak wizards over the years, and many strong muggles. And I know you have as well."

Miss Granger shrugged noncommittally.

Severus considered her. She seemed tired, and he didn't think she was listening closely anymore. He cleaned his handkerchief with a spell and then gave it back to her.

He hesitated at the door, before saying "Miss Granger."

She looked up at him.

"I know this is difficult for you. Please know, it is not my intention to punish you for your actions."

"But I'm a prisoner. I'm stuck in a tiny room and I can't even do anything," the girl said, more in surprise than anger.

"That is for safety, not punishment." He hesitated, only a moment. "You are allowed to read, or do schoolwork. Once I have cleared your possessions, they will be returned to you." Perhaps Kreacher could bring them. He had been kind to the girl, perhaps because of her bizarre affection for house-elves. It would do her good to have someone else to talk to, even if that someone was Kreacher.

Miss Granger paused for a moment. "Thank you," she said uncertainly.

Severus nodded, and left the room.

* * *

Hermione thought she was hallucinating when a door appear on her cell wall. She abandoned her studying to stare it, revelling in the sheer novelty of something different. Then Sirius stepped through, and she thought maybe it was a nightmare. She'd been having a lot of those since her meetings with Professor Snape had started. No, she'd been having them since her parents died. Earlier, even. She couldn't remember a time anymore when she didn't have nightmares.

Sirius stared at her, face more expressionless than she'd ever seen on him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, sitting up in her bed and wishing she was wearing actual clothes.

"I had to ask you—" Sirius stopped. He looked up at the ceiling then back down at her. "Were you planning on doing that to Harry when you asked me to help you get that cup?"

"No," Hermione answered honestly. She'd thought at first the getting the cup was her part of the deal, the thing she did in exchange for what Tom offered her. The revised deal had come afterwards.

Sirius nodded. "Okay. I think I even believe you."

His comment made her eyes burn but she didn't let herself cry.

"Did you enjoy it?" Sirius finally asked her, voice hoarse. He sounded like he didn't want to hear her answer. "Did you think he deserved it? Did you regret it, even while you were doing it?"

"Yes," Hermione whispered. If asked, she wouldn't have been able to say which question she was answering.

But Sirius didn't ask. He gave her a long look, nodded, and left the room. The door disappeared behind him. His last disappointed look seared itself into her brain and she knew she would never forget it, not as long as she lived.

Hermione stared at the ceiling of her room. Her head was spinning with thoughts, too fast for her to even think them before they spun away again.

When was the last time she'd been outside?

A single thought crystallised in her mind.

"Kreacher?" she said softly. For a long moment, her heart plummeted and she felt foolish, but then Kreacher finally appeared.

"The dark Miss is asking for Kreacher?" he asked curiously, squinting at her in suspicion.

"They've imprisoned me," she told him quietly. "Can you help?"

Kreacher nodded, a sly look on his face. "Bad Master has not forbidden it. Kreacher can do whatever he wants."

"Will you help me?"

"Yes," Kreacher said, and smiled.

* * *

_November 23rd, 1995_

"What do you mean, she's gone?" Severus said, staring at Mipsy in horrified amazement.

Mipsy wrung her hands helplessly. "Miss Granger is not in her room! And Mipsy can't find her in the house! She's gone!"

If Severus Snape were a different person, he would've placed his head in his hands and wept. But he wasn't. So he merely closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and went to the fire to update Albus. He had a long day ahead of him.

* * *

Hermione Granger had always been a Good Girl. Anyone who knew her would agree. Admittedly, she'd done some crazy things before (she had kidnapped a woman and kept her in a jar for a while), but always in the name enforcing some sort of rule. If anyone had polled Hogwarts asking which student was most likely to try to kill their best friend in the service of You-Know-Who after dropping out of school, it wouldn't have been her. She wouldn't even have been on the list.

And yet. Here she was.

After Kreacher had brought her out of the house, she'd made him drop her off downtown near a bus station, but hopefully not so close that they could track her. She had no illusions that Kreacher would keep her secret. He physically wouldn't be able to. Better that he didn't know anything then.

She'd intended on going… somewhere. Anywhere. Just away from Grimmauld Place and away from everyone who hated her and everything she'd done. She'd go to France and enrol in school there. No, that wasn't far enough away. She'd go to Australia. Her parents had always wanted to retire there. She could claim to be a refugee from the war. They'd believe her. Why not? She was a muggleborn with dead parents. She _was_ a refugee from the war.

Except none of that happened. Instead, her traitorous subconscious put her on a bus to her parents' house. Her transit card still had money on it, certainly enough to get her to the suburbs. They'd kept her wand, but Professor Snape had returned the rest of her possessions.

The house stood before her. She hadn't anticipated the pain of seeing it empty and quiet. She didn't bother trying not to cry — it was hopeless.

Wordlessly she let herself into the house. Here was the kitchen, where her parents used to make dinner together, laughing at each others' terrible cooking skills. There was the living room, every free wall hosting a book shelf. The telly was almost an afterthought in the room, and there was a reading lamp on every side table.

Hermione climbed the stairs. First to her bedroom, looking exactly as she'd remembered it. All her most precious possessions were gone, in her school trunk, but her books from childhood were still here. She ran her finger alone the spines of all her Jacqueline Wilson novels, the spines well-worn from when she'd re-read them so many times.

She forced herself to stop lingering and dragged herself down the hall to her parents' room. The room was bizarrely large, so her parents had turned it into a combined bedroom/study. On one side, there was their bed, perfectly made. They'd taken some things with them to the safe house, but had left enough to have a comfy return without needing to unpack first. There was a picture of the three of them on the nightstand, from when she was five. They were at a museum, and her parents looked so thrilled at her toothy smile. Gently, she touched the photo. She picked it up, gripping it tightly like a child might hold a blanket. In a daze, she wandered around the rest of the room.

There was the large desk which her parents shared. Stacks of papers — all personal, the business papers would be at the practice with whoever was watching it while they were gone. Or whoever had inherited it, now that they were gone forever.

The curtains were perfect. Hermione stared at them. She remembered how pleased her mum had been to find them, in the exact colour she wanted to match the sheets. Her dad had rolled his eyes at her behind her mother's back, then given her a wink as he exclaimed over the curtains as well.

This was what was left, Hermione realised. An empty house, filled with memories and pain. Every room could be a shrine to a life that no longer existed.

Hermione had been dealing with her parents' death for months. But for the first time, she started to think about what it meant that they were dead, and she was not. She thought about a future without them, about how they would never see her grow up, about how she'd been cast adrift in a world that no longer cared about her. She was an orphan now. She was alone. This was the reality she would have to live in.

Hermione laid down on the bed, and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

When she woke up, Professor Snape was staring at her.

He'd pulled a chair up next to the bed and was sitting in it. Looking at her. It was dim in the room, the sun not yet over the horizon even though the sky lightened. But it was light enough that she could see his face.

Hermione couldn't help it — for a moment, she smiled.

"You're awake," he said curtly.

She sat up in bed. "Am I in trouble?" she asked, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She couldn't begin to imagine what people would think of her now. No, she could— they would think her even more of a traitor than they already did.

"I believe that is up to you."

"I could kill myself," Hermione said without thought, wanting to see his reaction, but the words resonated within her in a way that made her uncomfortable.

"Is that what you wish?"

"I did a lot of terrible things," she said, looking away.

"Yes. But not all things you did had terrible consequences."

"I killed someone," she said quietly. "And my parents— they died because of me. Because I was stupid."

"Perhaps. And you could spend the rest of your life atoning, trying to erase the past. You wouldn't succeed, no matter what you did. The stain of their deaths will stay forever on your soul."

Hermione trembled at the sudden cruelty. She couldn't… "I know," she whispered.

"And so do I. It is a burden I live with every day."

"You do?" Hermione said, looking up at him, momentarily surprised out of her misery.

"Yes."

"How?" she asked desperately. "How?"

He didn't answer her question. "You could kill yourself. That would be easy. Then you wouldn't have to face Potter, or Black, or your friends. You would never have to live with the crushing guilt; the slow, un-winnable battle to make up for what you've done. You could simply fade away into memory, nothing more than a story." He paused. "Or you could live, and it would be much, much harder."

Hermione stared at him. "Why would I do that?" she asked.

"You tell me."

Suddenly Hermione understood. She grabbed a tissue from the box on the nightstand and carefully wiped her face dry. She felt free, lighter than she'd felt in ages. Her life would be hard, but it'd been hard for months. Her parents were dead. The worst thing that she could imagine happening to her had happened. The thing she'd feared more than anything had already come to pass. No matter how bad things got for her, that was something she could cling to. The worst had already happened. She was at the lowest point in her life. The only place to go was up. "I treated you very poorly," she said suddenly, looking at Professor Snape.

"You did," he acknowledged. He settled back in his chair, crossing his ankle over his knee.

"Bellatrix Lestrange cursed you, and I took advantage of that," Hermione said.

"Yes. And I let you."

"I kept telling myself that you— that you were an adult, that you were capable of making your own choices. That you wouldn't do anything you didn't want to. But you didn't have a choice, did you? That curse was like the Imperius, taking away any trace of free will. And you've been stuck trying to take care of and heal this mad girl murderer who's gone crazy when you should be living your life."

Professor Snape was quiet for a long moment. "That is mostly true," he admitted. "But you've missed one key component."

Hermione looked over at him in surprise. "What?"

"The curse ended with Bellatrix's death," he said.

Hermione gaped at him. "But you didn't… why didn't you say anything?"

"I needed to make up for what I'd done. What I'd gotten you into." He looked sad now, an emotion so sincere it took her breath away.

"What do you mean?"

"Bellatrix was furious at me because the Dark Lord favoured me more, and I never let her forget it. She loved him deeply, and I mocked her for it. So she plotted. She went after you and your parents because I— because the curse targeted you. If I had not gone to Grimmauld Place after being cursed, if I had gone to Hogwarts instead, then the curse would have targeted one of the staff, perhaps even the Headmaster himself, and Bellatrix would have had a much more difficult time enacting her plot. Or… or if I hadn't spent so much time antagonising her— none of this ever would have happened."

"You…" For a moment, Hermione felt rage sweep through her, and she desired nothing more than to scream at him, to curse him like she'd cursed Bellatrix. But in a flash, the feeling was gone, replaced with nothing but a deep, unending grief. But an honest grief, for the first time separated from the rage and self-loathing she'd been feeling for months. "It's not your fault," she said, weary beyond comprehension. "I don't blame you."

Professor Snape was quiet for a long moment. "Then I don't blame you either."

"What happens now?" Hermione asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"That's up to you," Professor Snape said, looking straight at her.

Outside the window, the sun finally rose.

* * *

_Author's note: As of right now, I'm calling this fic done and setting it aside. However, it holds a special place in my heart and in the future I may revise and expand it. I especially think that there is room for a sequel which would be a HG/SS romance... but I don't think I'd be able to write it. _

_However! I am starting work on a new fic, which will be a crack-with-feelings time travel fic featuring Hermione and Snape as the two main characters. My intentions are for that to eventually be romance, but honestly sometimes the characters get away from me when I write so we'll see. _

_Thank you everyone for reading. I know this fic has been a WIP for a long time, and I struggled a lot while writing it. Your comments meant the world to me, and thinking about the readers helped me keep returning to writing even when it felt impossible. _


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